


A Question of Time

by clocksworks



Series: Pizza-verse [2]
Category: Depeche Mode
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Jealousy, M/M, Miffles, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:08:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 44,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24525130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clocksworks/pseuds/clocksworks
Summary: Alan is trying his best to juggle school, performing at gigs and seeing Dave on a regular basis. He’s still hesitant to put a name on what this rapidly blossomingthingbetween them is, but he’s starting to suspect he already knows.Then Alan meets fellow musician Hepzibah. Dave is not pleased.
Relationships: Andrew "Fletch" Fletcher/Martin Gore, Dave Gahan/Alan Wilder
Series: Pizza-verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1772191
Comments: 151
Kudos: 47





	1. Strangelove

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel for ‘[A Question of Lust](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24408880)’, which was supposed to be just a two-chapter pornstravaganza. This has way less porn (I’m sorry) and a lot more fluff and angst (I’m also sorry).

Alan knew that all struggling musicians were supposed to pay their dues in the beginning. But the payments for their first few gigs were so laughably minuscule that for a time, Alan considered going back to food delivery, at least for a little while. The only reason he didn’t was because Dave wouldn’t hear of it and had urged Alan and Paul to keep trying to go for auditions; he was eternally convinced their big break was lying just around the corner.

"Bit of an optimist, that one," Paul said one night about Dave when they'd been packing up after a gig in Islington. Dave had gone to fetch Martin’s car and bring it around to the loading bay. "Where did you find him again?"

"Don't ask." Alan wiped down the keys of his Korg before setting it gently in its case. He wasn't sure how Paul would react if he ever found out that Alan and Dave were more than just good friends.

Normally the conversation at this point would deviate towards a joke, or maybe a discussion of how the gig had gone. But Paul was giving Alan this scrutinising look that made him a little uncomfortable, so Alan looked away first and shut the clasps of his keyboard case.

"You know I don't care, right?" Paul's tone was a lot gentler than it needed to be, here in this grotty club. "Birds, blokes-- it doesn’t matter, as long as you’re happy."

"I know." Alan could feel his face heating up in a flush, which he hated. He knew Paul wouldn't judge him, but at the same time, Alan tremendously disliked talking about his private life. Even Flood, whom Alan considered his closest mate, didn’t know everything about Alan.

When Alan didn’t say anything else, Paul just sighed. “All right then.” Thankfully he moved on to the subject of their next big audition, and Alan didn’t know why he felt so guilty - and so relieved.  
  


***  
  


Perhaps Dave’s faith had not exactly been misplaced, for Alan and Paul soon received a call confirming that they’d been shortlisted. This audition had been for a gig at a venue in Camden, and Recoil would be part of a short line-up that featured some London electro bands, big and small. The money for it was decent too - in the triple digits, for once. Flood joked that Alan could now afford to keep the fridge stocked in caviar and ribeyes.

“I’m a vegetarian, you idiot,” Alan had said, rolling his eyes at his errant flatmate.

“Heard you recently started liking meat,” Flood had retorted, and the coward had quickly fled to his room before Alan could get his hands on him.

Dave had been the most pleased, of course. They'd celebrated the news with a fancy Indian takeaway, followed by some very enthusiastic congratulations from Dave that had resulted in them running out of lube. But as much as Dave had wanted to come support Alan for Recoil's first major gig, he had a very important essay due the next day (and, in typical Dave fashion, he'd waited till the last minute to start working on it). Alan managed to convince Dave that his grades for the semester were far more important, placating him with promises of breakfast in bed and backstage access for the next Recoil gig.

As the day of the performance drew closer, Alan and Paul ramped up the number of rehearsals accordingly, holding court in Alan’s and Flood’s living room with their keyboards and Paul’s Macbook. Often, Dave would be perched on the sofa with his textbooks, watching them while doing a horribly unconvincing impression of studying. Dave would hum along sometimes - Alan was pleasantly surprised at the deep, rich timbre of his voice - or he’d give pointers here and there, eager to help. Alan took note of everything Dave said, ignoring Paul’s meaningful looks or raised eyebrows.

Dave was beginning to be a pivotal part of Alan’s life now. They were always in each other’s pockets, whether they were rehearsing in Alan’s flat or hanging out with Fletch and Martin at Dave’s. It always felt effortless and easy; most mornings they’d discuss schedules and where they’d be spending the night, then shift their textbooks and laptops accordingly, along with a change of clothes. Dave had cheerfully offered Alan to help himself to his wardrobe, but the man possessed far too much torn denim for Alan to take him up on his offer. Sure, maybe Dave was capable of pulling off the indifferent rock star look, but Alan suspected he himself would just end up looking like he’d been mauled by a tiger if he tried.

Much to Alan’s surprise, their sleeping arrangements also fell into place very naturally. At first, Alan had worried that Dave’s twin bed might have been too tiny for two blokes of their height to squeeze in. But with a little creative adjustment and a lot of spooning, it’d turned out surprisingly comfortable, and Alan got used to falling asleep with Dave’s arm draped around him, their legs tangled under the sheets.

It was early one Sunday morning when Alan had woken up to find his bed empty, Dave missing from his side. They’d slept over at Alan’s, since Paul would be coming over later in the afternoon for a Recoil rehearsal. A groggy Alan had been disoriented at first, wiping the sleep from his eyes and wondering where Dave could possibly be. The en-suite bathroom was ominously dark.

They were far enough from the early days when Alan had secretly fretted over Dave wanting to vanish after sex, but thankfully Dave had never done that once, not even in the beginning. Still, that little fear had never quite gone away over the past three months since they’d started sleeping together.

Laughter and voices from outside - the kitchen? - made him sit up, quieting that little fear temporarily. He could hear Dave chatting loudly with someone, so Alan pulled on some clothes and made his way outside. Dave was standing in the kitchen - in just his boxers and a tank top - holding onto two glasses of juice as he related some very funny tale to Flood and his girlfriend, Marissa. They were both chuckling at Dave’s story as they leaned against each other, Flood’s hand resting proprietorially on her hip.

When Dave spotted Alan, his face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Morning, Charlie.” He stepped forward to hand Alan one of the glasses of juice. “I was just telling Flood about that horrible audition at Battersea.”

“Dave’s quite the storyteller,” Flood said, the wickedest glint in his eye. Alan immediately sensed trouble.

“So are you, mate.” Dave gestured at Flood with a laugh. “That story about 13-year-old Al dumping a bottle of hair gel on his head was funny as fuck. So that’s how you got the nickname Slick.”

Alan narrowed his eyes at the traitorous Flood, all three of them snickering at Alan’s expense. “Judas.”

“Aw c’mon, Charlie.” Dave slipped an arm around Alan’s waist, bumping against his hip. None of this escaped Flood’s sharp, amused eyes. “I’m just trying to get to know your mates. Don’t cry, love.”

“Sod off.” Alan sipped his juice, Dave laughing against him. Despite Alan’s usual aversion to public displays of affection, it felt nice having Dave pressed up against him, his warm hand on Alan’s waist. “You’re all dead to me.”

Later on, as the four of them were eating an impromptu breakfast together and exchanging horrible tales of slander against Alan, it occurred to him what a wonderful Sunday morning this was, Dave comfortable in little more than his underwear in Alan’s kitchen, with Flood and Marissa listening to Dave’s stories and laughing along with ease. Dave’s hand was sprawled possessively on Alan’s thigh as he talked, and Alan had to hide his smile when he noticed Flood absently mirroring the gesture with Marissa.

Despite his better instincts, Alan’s hand slipped down as he curled his fingers around Dave’s, listening to some story about a stoner student who was aggravating Dave’s professor in one of his classes. Dave didn’t stop talking, but he flashed an especially bright smile in Alan’s direction, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Alan took this opportunity to just enjoy looking at Dave, watching the expressive way Dave always talked with his hands - well, hand, since Alan was currently holding one hostage.

“You all right?” Dave quietly asked him later, when Flood and Marissa were getting up to wash their plates. “You were staring at me all funny. Did I have something on my face?”

Alan pointed somewhere at Dave’s right cheek. “Yeah, there’s something-- oh sorry, it’s just your nose.”

Dave rolled his eyes. “Very funny, Slick.”

“Call me that again and I’m kicking you in your sleep.”

“Like you don’t already kick me when I’m awake?”

“Idiot.” Alan couldn’t help laughing first, breaking their stalemate and squeezing Dave’s hand fondly.

“Wanker.” Dave grinned down at their joined hands, squeezing back.  
  


***  
  


D-Day was finally here. Having enlisted Fletch’s and Martin’s help to ensure Dave actually finished his critical final essay, Alan finished packing the last of their equipment into the van belonging to Paul’s cousin before they finally set off for Camden. Traffic was beastly, so they talked about the set-list while Paul’s cousin yawned repeatedly at the wheel.

When they got to the venue, they discovered they weren’t the only band waiting to unload their equipment. There was another purple van already waiting at the loading bay, so Alan and Paul parked theirs on a small side road to wait their turn. Leaving Paul’s grumpy cousin in the van, Alan stepped out for a smoke, Paul quickly joining him.

It wasn't long before a tired security guard finally came waddling out to the purple van, flashing them a thumbs up. The driver got out and flung the doors open, shouting, “C’mon ladies, let’s not muck about!”

Alan noticed Paul perking up when three beautiful women stepped out of the van and began unloading their instruments, laughing among themselves and teasing one another. “Cor, can this gig get any better?” Paul whispered, his eyes wide as he elbowed Alan repeatedly.

“That’s probably Miranda Sex Garden.” Alan took the rehearsal schedule out of his pocket, scanning the list of bands. They were - unfortunately - the only female-fronted band there. Alan had heard a bit about them, and he didn’t mind that one song of theirs he’d found in some Spotify-curated playlists.

One of the girls - she had dark, curly hair and a black dress with a red rose on it - was left on her own and seemed to be struggling with a comically large double bass case, so Alan quickly jogged over to help her with it. “Need a hand?” he called out, plucking it out of her arms as she nodded. He was easily at least a foot taller than her so it was effortless enough for him, and she smiled up at him in relief.

“Thanks for that, bloody thing’s bigger than I am,” she huffed with a grin.

“Not a problem, I just emerged victorious from a fight with a cello last week,” Alan quipped, making her laugh. “Where did you want this?”

“On stage, please.”

Alan followed her in through the maze of dark corridors, and he could hear someone already conducting a mic test, repeating, “Check one two, _one_ two,” as they emerged on the brightly lit stage. The other two women from earlier were setting up their keyboard stands and drum kit, and a man in a leather jacket ran over when he spotted Alan and the dark-haired woman. “Aw Hep, I told you I’d get the bass,” the bloke told her, before turning to Alan and taking the instrument from him. “Cheers, mate. Sorry for the trouble.”

“No trouble at all.” Alan smiled at the woman called Hep. “Good luck for the gig.”

“Thanks, you too!” she called out with a wave as he left the stage.

Paul was waiting outside for him with the biggest shit-eating grin. “What the bloody hell was that?” he asked with a guffaw.

“What was what?” Alan’s attention was already elsewhere, checking his phone for any messages from Dave. There were only four within the past hour, which meant Martin had done his job and confiscated Dave’s phone. With a little grin, Alan replied to all four, keeping the messages relatively tame so that Martin wouldn't accidentally see them and get a heart attack.

“Y’know, that whole knight-in-shining-armour manoeuvre.” Paul gestured vaguely towards the purple van.

“It wasn’t a _manoeuvre_ ,” Alan corrected him. “She needed help.”

“Oh aye, and she got it too.”

“Shut it, will you?” Alan retorted as Paul laughed openly at him.

“Oh c’mon mate, I don’t care if you’re single or not,” Paul said, vastly amused. “I mean, you still have eyes, right? There’s no harm in looking, and you can’t deny the three of them are beautiful. Especially that brunette, _blimey_.”

Alan pretended to feel Paul’s forehead for his temperature. “I’m genuinely worried about you. Have you never seen women before? Or have you always been this thirsty?”

“Fuck off.” Paul smacked away Alan’s hand with a grin. "It’s been a while, okay?”

They stood quietly by the van for a while, finishing their cigarettes before Paul suddenly muttered, “You’re thinking of the three of them together, aren’t you?”

Alan merely shook his head as Paul started laughing like a maniac. “You little pervert,” Alan chuckled, thinking he might need to set his band mate up with a date soon. Maybe Dave knew of some eligible female friends who might be interested.

Thankfully, the security people were now waving them over for their turn in the loading bay. As Alan started unloading his equipment, his thoughts kept straying back to Dave, wishing he was here and hoping that he was making good progress on his work, at least.  
  


***  
  


The set went a lot smoother than Alan had anticipated. The sound system was a bit dodgy at parts, but otherwise the sound was surprisingly good. There wasn’t much of an audience initially, since Recoil was the very first band performing, but it was still a good deal more people than one of their smaller venues, like Club Bastille. Many of them seemed to be into the music too, nodding along and actually paying attention instead of chatting over their drinks. Alan was surprised and very pleased.

In between songs, he noticed some of the other bands watching them from backstage too. At one point, Paul looked behind them and almost knocked over his Macbook, which made Alan turn to see what had made Paul so frazzled. He almost laughed out loud when he spotted the members of Miranda Sex Garden blowing kisses at a red-faced Paul. No bloody wonder.

After their set, they packed up quickly so they could get some drinks from the bar. The gig organiser had shrewdly limited each performer to two coupons, just in case anyone had any ideas about drinking the bar dry. So Alan ordered his first vodka tonic and watched the other bands, nodding at people who came up to tell him they enjoyed Recoil’s set. Paul was utterly loving the attention, chatting with their newfound fans. Alan, however, was scrolling glumly through his phone, wondering how Dave was coming along. Alan had sent a text earlier just to check in, but he’d only gotten a stern ‘LEAVE HIM ALONE THX’ presumably from Martin, making him sigh.

It wasn’t long before Miranda Sex Garden took the stage, and Alan had to admit that they were much better live than they were on Spotify. The girls had beautiful voices and an ethereal presence on stage, and the bloke in the leather jacket from earlier was quite decent on the drums. Alan’s attention on their music drifted in and out as he kept checking his phone, in case Dave had managed to make a break for it and succeeded in escaping from Martin. Unfortunately, it remained maddeningly silent.

Alan didn’t know which was more annoying: his seemingly brilliant-but-really-stupid idea to ban Dave from the gig, or the fact that he was mooning about like a Byronic hero. This was his very first proper gig at a proper venue. Why wasn’t he more excited about this? Miranda Sex Garden was now bowing and leaving the stage, but Alan barely noticed, lost in his thoughts.

Determined to enjoy himself, he chatted with Paul and his cousin, using his other coupon to buy the poor bloke a drink in return for schlepping their equipment all over Greater London. He was debating whether to convince them to leave early when the bartender suddenly set down a vodka tonic in front of him, making Alan frown. “Courtesy of the little lady over there,” the bartender told him, nodding towards a group of women at a nearby table.

Alan’s confusion cleared when he spotted Hep with her band-mates, giving him a little wave. They were all happy and gleaming with sweat after their performance. Alan raised his drink in a silent toast, smiling in gratitude. Everyone else raised their glasses as well, and one of the other women whispered something in Hep’s ear.

“You lucky bastard,” Paul said in awe, gesturing at Alan’s drink before gazing at the girls. “How did you manage that?”

“If you manage to stop drooling, I might introduce you,” Alan said smugly, enjoying this leverage over Paul.

Unfortunately, it didn’t last for long as the band was now waving Alan and Paul over to come join their table. Paul was beside himself with happiness, flushed and giggly as a schoolgirl. Alan was barely holding in his laughter; he couldn’t wait to get home and recount the whole sordid tale to Dave.

“So you’re the one who rescued our Hep,” the blonde lead singer said with a laugh, holding out her hand to Alan. Hep was leaning against her companionably. “I’m Donna, this is Hepzibah as you know. Just call her Hep. What’s your name, handsome?”

“I’m Alan, this is my mate Paul,” he said, grinning widely as he shook hands with them. “You were all quite good.”

“So were you.” Hep clinked her drink against his. “The bands are all decent, aren’t they? I haven’t seen the organiser all night, though.”

They chatted for a while, listening to the current band while intermittently bitching about the organiser and other terrible venues they had played. Alan was in the middle of sharing details about an upcoming audition when two hands suddenly clapped over his eyes and startled him, a low familiar voice murmuring, “Boo!” in his ear.

“Dave?” Alan was already smiling like a loon as Dave let his hands drop, then spun Alan around to face him and grab him for a hug. Behind him were Martin and Fletch, grinning just as widely and clearly dressed up for a night out. Fletch looked sharp enough with his black turtleneck and jeans, but it was Martin who made Alan’s jaw drop. Martin was wearing what appeared to be black leather bondage gear over a fishnet tank top and tiny denim shorts. He’d added to the ensemble with thick make-up, his mass of blond curls piled on top of his head. Almost everyone in the vicinity was staring at him, some of them with rapt desire.

“Forgot about me already?” Dave teased Alan, his lips brushing against the shell of Alan’s ear and jolting him back to attention.

“No, sorry, it’s just--” Alan nodded towards Martin’s outfit. “I’ve never seen Martin like that before.”

“I’m used to it.” Dave chuckled at him. Now that Alan got a good look at him, he allowed himself to greedily drink in Dave’s presence. He had on a leather jacket over a Black Sabbath t-shirt and one of his ripped jeans. Typical Dave attire, but after an entire day of missing the silly bastard, Alan thought Dave easily outshone everyone in the venue, no contest.

Then a thought occurred to him. “Wait, what about your essay?” Alan asked, a little worried now.

“Finished it in record time. Our Mart’s a real slave-driver.” Dave smirked here, making Alan want him even more badly. “Though now I reckon he’ll be wanting to use the whip on someone else instead.”

Alan laughed, both of them watching as Martin gracefully fended off all his prospective suitors, Fletch looming behind him like a sharp-eyed sentinel. “I’m so glad to see the lot of you,” Alan said, making Dave beam at him.

The spell was broken when someone touched his arm. “Alan, would you like another drink?” he heard Hep asking.

Alan could almost feel Dave’s gaze landing on Hep’s hand like a physical touch. Dave seemed startled and a little confused, his head cocked as though he were trying to assess whether something was a threat. “Hep, this is Dave,” Alan said loudly, wishing the vodka tonics earlier hadn’t been so strong. “Dave, this is Hep. She’s from one of the other bands that played today.”

“Hiya Dave,” Hep said pleasantly.

“All right, love?” Dave nodded at her with a smile. “So which band were you in?”

They talked for a bit with Alan sandwiched in the middle, so Alan just listened and occasionally glanced over to make sure Paul was still standing upright. Alan no longer wanted to make a hasty exit, content to stay and watch the last band with Dave and the rest. The supposed headliner had been quite a popular band a decade ago, and Alan had grown up with a good handful of their songs.

The conversation between Dave and Hep had lapsed quite quickly, and she’d flashed Alan a smile before turning to her friends. Alan gave her a little wave before returning his attention to the band. Beside him, he could feel Dave relaxing slightly.

At some point, Martin and Fletch came over to join them. Martin was in possession of several new phone numbers and a slew of drinks which he redistributed to the rest of them. Fletch’s jaw was tight with tension as he sulkily sipped his cocktail; Alan remembered Dave telling him about some complicated arrangement Martin had with Fletch and Grainne, but he didn’t care to know the details. It was hard enough trying to figure out what he and Dave were to each other.

Paul was still with the girls from Miranda Sex Garden, but from the way they were pinching his cheeks and ruffling his hair, Alan didn’t think his poor friend was going to get lucky tonight. He remembered his idea from earlier and turned to Dave to whisper in his ear: “Hey, do you know any single women who might be up for a date?”

To his surprise, Dave stiffened against him, his eyes wide with worry. “What? Why?” he blurted out, his gaze inexplicably flickering over to Hep and her friends.

Alan was confused at Dave’s reaction. “Just thought I’d help poor Paul out,” he said, even more mystified when Dave shuddered with relief. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, I thought--” Shaking his head in self-admonishment, Dave was smiling again as he tucked an arm around Alan. “Y’know what? I know some birds, I’ll set Paul up.”

“I owe you one,” Alan said, grinning when Dave arched a salacious eyebrow at him. “You can take your time to think about how you want to cash in that favour.”

“Oh I will, mate.” Dave was the happiest Alan had seen him all night, smirking as he tossed back his whiskey with a flourish. “I definitely will.”  
  
  
  



	2. Nothing

The next morning, Alan woke up to find himself alone in Dave’s cramped little bed. He couldn’t remember much of what had happened, but he must have drunk a lot more than he thought if his current hangover was any indication. He slumped back on the pillow, flashes of the previous night slowly coming back to him: Martin loading them with more and more drinks from generous admirers, Fletch leading a drunken singalong, Paul passing out at some stranger’s table and having to be rescued by an amused Alan and Paul’s irate cousin, who’d ended up taking Paul and their equipment home.

And Dave, of course. His hands had been all over Alan last night, slipping under Alan’s shirt or rubbing the nape of his neck. The entire time he’d been whispering all the filthy things he’d wanted to do to Alan, his whiskey-scented breath warm in Alan’s ear. Alan had been half hard the whole night, and probably would have been desperate enough to drag Dave to the men’s room if Paul hadn’t needed his help.

Fuck. Thoughts about Dave were not helping his current morning erection, which was taking a vivid interest in the direction of Alan’s thoughts.

 _Where is he?_ Alan had a vague memory of Dave climbing over him out of bed earlier, pressing a clumsy kiss to a groggy Alan’s cheek before he left the room. It’d still been dark so Alan had drifted back to sleep.

Reaching for his phone on Dave’s table, Alan scrolled through his messages. Nothing from Dave, but there were a few nonsensical ones from Paul last night and a text from Alan’s mum reminding him about his dad’s upcoming birthday. Alan ignored them all and texted Dave’s number instead.

_Where are you?_

Alan could hear voices outside, which meant Martin and Fletch were already awake. However he didn’t feel quite like getting out of bed yet, so he stretched out and made himself comfortable under Dave’s sheets. He couldn’t quite remember if he and Dave had been too drunk to have sex last night, but it was a likely possibility, considering Alan still had most of his clothes on and was feeling particularly antsy for no good reason.

It was a few minutes before he got Dave’s reply: _out gettig brekkie bck soon_

Even though Dave was out doing something thoughtful and reasonable like getting breakfast for all of them, Alan couldn't help the small huff of frustration. His left hand slid down to rest on his stomach, hovering above his waistband as he continued texting with his right.

 _How much longer?_ Alan smiled to himself, deciding to give Dave an incentive to hurry back. _I'm still in bed, thinking about you._

The reply came much faster later this time. _oh??? pls share!_ Here, Dave added a devil emoji.

Now that Dave had taken the bait, Alan allowed himself to feel a little smug as his hand slipped under the waistband of his boxers, taking himself in hand and stroking slowly, thinking of Dave's promises last night in that low, silky voice of his. Dave, staring at Alan with those half-lidded eyes and continually licking his lips, ignoring all the pretty people around them as though Alan had been the only one worth looking at in the venue last night.

Alan couldn't fault him though. He'd felt the same about Dave.

 _Thinking about your hands on me,_ Alan typed, his breath getting shallow as his strokes sped up. _I want your mouth on me now. Fuck I'm so hard, Dave._

It only took seconds before Dave texted back: _fuvk Al_

Before Alan could type out a reply, more texts flooded in from Dave.

_u fcking bastard_

_im at sainsburys now_

_look wat ur doin to me_

Alan laughed at the photo Dave had sent him. It was a selfie of a hot and bothered Dave in line at the supermarket, his face flushed red as he glared at the camera. Alan felt a rush of affection and arousal that went straight to his cock, so desperate for Dave that he felt like he would explode if he didn't have Dave's hands on him now, Dave kissing and touching him in that sure, possessive way he always did.

Fuck. Maybe he wouldn't be able to wait for Dave to come back after all. This whole exercise had entirely backfired on him.

 _I'm touching myself,_ Alan fumbled to type as he ramped up the speed of his strokes, wetting his lips and wishing very badly for an absent Dave to kiss him. _I'm pretending it's your hand on my cock and your mouth on my neck._

No response from Dave, but Alan was already into it now, imagining Dave's firm body on top of him, nudging Alan's thighs apart and gripping him in taut strokes. Dave would have that wild, hungry look in his eyes, his pupils almost fully dilated.

Alan's phone finally buzzed, startling him out of his haze. It seemed Dave had mashed the keyboard while trying to type, _DONT FINSIH WIOUT ME!!!1_ which actually made Alan stop and laugh for a good minute, imagining a red-faced Dave mowing down other shoppers at Sainsbury’s in his frantic attempt to rush home.

Deciding there was no harm in being gracious, Alan wound up giving Dave another ten minutes, keeping his strokes slow and lazy as his mind raced through all the other times they’d had sex. They’d come a long way from the wild, frenetic whirlwind of their initial encounter - right here in Dave’s room too, in fact. It was the first time Alan had jumped into bed with someone ten minutes after knowing them, but there had been something about Dave that had made him throw caution to the wind.

It was a little concerning how much Alan was still doing that now, actually.

Alan was about to start stroking again in earnest when he heard the main door slam open, followed by something dropping onto the floor and Fletch shouting, “ _What the fuck?_ ” before footsteps thundered towards Dave’s room.

Alan was grinning widely when a panting Dave flung open the door, his face red with exertion. “You devious bastard,” Dave growled as he shoved the door closed with his hip, already shedding his clothes and tossing them in every direction. Alan threw off the sheets and Dave practically leapt on top of him, their mouths crushed together in a brutal and urgent kiss that quickly dragged Alan back to the edge.

Dave almost ripped Alan’s clothes off, throwing them haphazardly somewhere before resuming their furious kiss, a clash of teeth and tongues and bruised lips as Alan lost himself in the familiar hard lines of Dave’s body moving against his own. This wasn’t going to be slow and tender, with time to grab the lube and make it last; this was going to be crazed and stormy, Alan crying out as Dave wrapped an eager hand around his dripping erection. He could feel the hard line of Dave’s own cock pressed against his thigh, which Alan shifted to give Dave some friction, making him groan loudly.

“Fucking hell, Al,” Dave moaned, moving down to liberally lavish Alan’s exposed neck with kisses. “You drive me crazy.”

“You’re one to talk,” Alan huffed out breathlessly, reaching down and grabbing Dave’s firm arse with satisfaction. “Your hands were-- fuck, all over me last night.”

“Got you all worked up, didn’t I?” Dave sounded too smug for his own good, before dissolving into a moan as Alan gripped his cock in turn. “ _Fuck--_ ”

“Next time,” Alan promised, because they both obviously needed to get off right now. Keeping his strokes firm and sure the way Dave liked it, Alan licked a stripe across the shell of Dave’s ear and laughed triumphantly when Dave stilled, warmth spurting over Alan’s fingers. Tugging Dave’s head up for a kiss, Alan chuckled at the stupefied look on Dave’s face and started thrusting against the solid heft of Dave’s hip, Dave’s come making it slick and easier for Alan to lose himself.

“Fuck, Dave,” Alan gasped out, shutting his eyes as Dave started pressing lazy kisses against his neck again, murmuring words of encouragement. When Dave threaded his fingers into Alan’s hair and _tugged_ , Alan came with a shout as he spiralled into bliss, remembering the last time when Dave had done that with Alan on his knees.

It took a few long moments for both of them to recover, Alan trying to catch his breath, sticky and spent. Dave was in not much better condition, shifting over a little so they could both cool off. “Fucking Sainsbury’s,” Dave muttered, which made Alan chuckle. “Jesus, Al, next time some warning would be nice.”

Alan gently butted his head against Dave’s. “Maybe this will teach you to stop abandoning me in bed.”

“Tosser.” But with the way Dave was smiling broadly at him, Alan didn’t think he minded at all.  
  


***  
  


When they finally emerged from Dave’s room, Martin took one look at their bedraggled states and burst out laughing. "Oh my God!"

Fletch had his hands on his hips like a schoolmarm. “No bloody wonder you chucked all the shopping at me earlier and ran off!”

“Yeah, sorry mate.” Dave didn’t sound very sorry at all, dropping a wink at Alan who tried not to laugh.

Fletch then launched into a lecture about how _he_ had to be the responsible one and manage the flat, while Martin just shook his head and Dave used his hand to imitate a talking clam behind Fletch’s back. But they’d eventually managed to placate Fletch by taking care of breakfast, the four of them sitting at the little dining table and sharing pots of jam and clotted cream while someone’s Spotify playlist blasted Ray Charles in the background. Martin kept bending down to surreptitiously feed bits of smoked salmon to Miffles as Dave and Fletch talked about their adventures last night, ripping apart some of the people they’d met.

For his part, Alan just watched everything quietly with a little smile, feeling just as comfortable here as Dave was in his own kitchen with Flood and Marissa a week ago. When he caught Dave’s eye, they exchanged a quick, knowing look; apparently, Dave had been thinking of the same thing.  
  


***  
  


It was a very lazy Saturday afternoon, and none of them had any pressing appointments nor the inclination to leave the flat. Fletch was sitting at the small rickety dining table, fretting over his econs notes for his exam on Monday, while Martin was perched on the floor with his guitar, strumming softly and humming to himself, stopping every now and then to write in a battered old journal. Miffles was settled beside him, watching her owner with curious eyes.

Dave and Alan had the sofa; they’d started out sitting a healthy distance apart, but Dave had the tendency to sprawl out and fill every inch of available space. So at some point he’d stretched out, and now his head was resting comfortably on Alan’s lap as he watched Youtube videos on his phone, occasionally tugging on Alan’s shirt to share something interesting or funny.

Alan was looking up local music blogs on his laptop to see if anyone had reviewed last night’s gig. There were quite a few mentions about the headliner, as well as some of the other bands who had a bigger following. But there was nothing about Recoil so far. Alan absently ran his fingers through Dave’s hair, thinking how he liked it soft and ungelled like this. Dave could dress up with the best of them - even Martin - and he definitely knew how to play up his best attributes. But Alan liked this Dave too, dressed in his oldest and comfiest clothes with messy hair and stubble because he’d been too lazy to shave.

Alan wasn’t blind; of course he’d noticed the numerous double-takes and lingering looks Dave would amass whenever they were in public. But Alan by nature was not a jealous person. Besides, it wasn’t as though they had talked about being exclusive or anything like that. The only thing they had agreed on was to keep seeing each other, if they wanted to. If Dave ever decided to start seeing someone else (or if he already was), Alan definitely wouldn’t have a leg to stand on. Moreover, there was also nothing to stop Alan from doing the same thing.

Except--

Alan frowned, tapping on his laptop a little more forcefully than he intended. Alright, he rarely got jealous, and he _wasn’t_ jealous now at the thought of Dave being with someone else, but...it made him uncomfortable. Really uncomfortable. Dread was blooming in the pit of his stomach.

Dave must have noticed a change in Alan’s mood or posture, because he was putting his phone down, rubbing Alan’s knee. “All right?”

“Just knackered.” Alan brushed back Dave’s hair, smiling down at him. Dave’s eye colour often changed in different lighting and different moods, and today his eyes looked more green. “Someone wore me out, y’know.”

“Ugh,” Fletch said from the dining table, while Martin just chuckled again. Dave just flipped off both his friends with a backwards ‘V’ sign, but his smile was still soft as he stared up at Alan for a little while more before returning to his phone.

Alan continued sifting through blogs and reviews, grinning when he found one for Miranda Sex Garden that was quite flattering. Those girls deserved it. In the background, he could hear Martin strumming something that caught his attention. All afternoon, Martin had been playing snippets of covers that Alan vaguely recognised. But this one seemed unfamiliar. It was moody and hauntingly lovely.

“What was that tune?” Alan turned to ask, when Martin had paused to scribble something in his journal.

For some reason, Martin looked embarrassed, as though he’d been caught doing something untoward. “Just something that came to me,” he said quietly, avoiding Alan’s gaze.

“You wrote that?” Alan was extremely impressed. “That was really good.”

“Mart has loads of songs,” Fletch boasted, as though he’d written them all himself. Martin was giving him a _please-shut-up-now_ look, which Fletch happily ignored. “They’ll all top the charts someday, I promise you.”

“Normally I’d hate to agree with Andy,” Dave said from Alan’s lap, playing with the hem of his t-shirt. “But he’s right there. Mart’s insanely gifted.”

Martin shut the pages of his journal with a sigh. “Remind me again why I never tell you lot anything,” he muttered, picking up Miffles and pulling her into his lap.

“No, wait.” Dave sat upright, and Alan found himself missing his warmth immediately. “Mart, you should let Al have a listen to your songs some time. He’s classically trained, y’know. He knows about music, like proper music.”

“Yeah, if you won’t listen to us, maybe you’ll listen to him,” Fletch agreed, which surprised Alan.

Martin just kept playing with Miffles and giving her little high-fives on her paws, but Alan caught the tentative glance Martin shot his way. “Yeah maybe, let me think about it,” Martin eventually conceded, which made Dave grin as he settled back down in Alan’s lap, happy and triumphant. Alan couldn’t resist smiling down at him, a little pleased that Dave had remembered Alan talking about his classical training. It was something he’d mentioned in passing long ago, so he hadn’t expected Dave to store away that little factoid.

They’d settled into a nice silence after that, before Fletch gave up on studying and turned on the telly. He switched it to a channel with some football pundits discussing prospects for tomorrow’s league matches, which distracted Alan to no end. No surprises that QPR was at the bottom of the table - again - but Alan was aware of the buzz around the upcoming derby. He and Fletch started speculating about the Arsenal vs Chelsea match, but at least they could agree that they both wanted Chelsea to go down in flames.

Once it started getting dark, the four of them were in the middle of discussing dinner plans when Alan’s phone chimed with a message. It was from a number he didn’t recognise.

_Hi this is Hep here, it was really gd to meet you yesterday!! Just sharing this in case you missed it :)_

Here she’d added a Youtube link which had Alan’s face on its thumbnail. When he clicked on it, it brought him to a video on a local music reviewer’s channel called The Electro Dude that he’d somehow missed earlier. From the review’s gushing title alone, the bloke seemed full of praise for Recoil’s performance last night.

Alan’s surprise must have shown on his face, because Dave was sitting up again and looking at him in concern. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just--” Alan showed Dave his phone screen. “Some bloke reviewed our gig on Youtube.”

Dave’s face lit up in happiness as though Alan had told him he’d won the lottery. “Fuck, really? Send me the link!”

“Sure, of course.” Alan was now grinning like mad. “I need to send this to Paul too.”

Dave raised an eyebrow. “Oh, wasn’t Paul the one who sent you this? Or was it another mate of yours?”

“Nope, it was Hep from yesterday,” Alan said. “She’s the one from--”

“Yeah, I remember her.” Dave’s tone was flat now, his smile a little more forced. “So you two exchanged numbers, then?”

It was only now that Alan noticed the pervasive silence in the living room, making him wary. Fletch and Martin had mysteriously stopped arguing over dinner and were both staring at the telly a little too intensely, which gave Alan the very strong impression that they were paying attention to his and Dave’s conversation. Alan wasn’t sure what was happening or why the tension in the room had suddenly been ramped up to such a degree; they’d all been enjoying such a pleasant Saturday so far.

“Actually, no.” Alan looked closely at Dave, who was drumming his fingers a little too vigorously on the arm of the sofa. “No idea how she got my mobile. Probably through Paul, I guess.”

At least this loosened the rigid, defensive set of Dave’s shoulders. “Oh, okay.” Seemingly more relieved now, Dave turned his focus to the review instead, Martin releasing the captive Miffles so he could hop over and watch the video over Dave’s shoulder. Dave didn’t even seem to register Martin’s presence, his face carefully blank.

 _There’s nothing going on between me and Hep_ , Alan wanted to say, but he quickly stopped himself because he didn’t want to have this discussion in front of Fletch and Martin. Alan also greatly felt like he would be overstepping some invisible boundary with Dave. What if he was wrong in assuming that Dave was jealous or bothered by it? He kept reminding himself - again - that they’d never discussed exclusivity. Dave could be having ten girls and blokes on the side, a revolving door of options for whenever he tired of Alan. After all, Dave was intelligent, wickedly funny, generous and very handsome to boot. Who in their right mind would not want to throw themselves at him?

Alan’s phone rang at that opportune moment, and he sighed when he spotted the caller-ID. It was Paul, probably calling to moan about his hangover or Alan ditching him. “I’ll take this outside,” Alan said, getting up from the sofa.

“Yeah, sure.” Although Dave sounded nonchalant, Alan didn’t miss the way his eyes darted over to Alan’s phone screen. “Give Paul my love.”

Something made Alan pause on his way out just to give Dave a warm, reassuring squeeze on the nape of his neck. It worked; Dave looked up at him with a brilliant smile, deep enough that there was a flash of his dimples. His hand brushed against Alan’s briefly before he turned away as Martin asked him something.

Maybe it was time they had a conversation.  
  


***  
  


The phone call with Paul took much longer than Alan had expected. Firstly, Alan gave Paul some grief about passing out his mobile number, but Paul was unrepentant. “The girls just wanted to stay in touch with us in case we had future gigs together. I thought they seemed nice,” he’d protested, which had just made Alan roll his eyes.

Paul did have some good news though: the girls had gotten them a foot in the door to audition for another upcoming gig, this time at a famous club in Soho. They talked business for a bit, discussing the setlist and arranging their next few rehearsals. Alan winced as he scanned his mental calendar; he had quite a few school deadlines coming up, and he needed to shop for a gift for his dad’s birthday.

“By the way, did you see that review on the Electro Dude’s channel?” Paul sighed happily. “I can’t stop watching it.”

“I just got wind of it, I’ll watch it later.”

“Huh?” Paul chuckled. “What were you doing the whole bloody day?”

“I was having a very nice day,” Alan said casually. “Until you started giving out my mobile number to random women.”

“Oh c’mon mate, I couldn’t see the harm. Besides, they got us that audition, yeah?”

“Yeah I suppose.”

“What’s got you so upset?” Paul sounded sly here. “Did it piss off your boyfriend?”

Alan didn’t know why there was a flip in his stomach at Paul’s words. After all, he was most probably just teasing. “He’s not-- Y’know what, I’m really not discussing this with you.”

“Spoilsport. By the way, if you haven’t gone home yet, try to check the instruments and equipment if you could. Ivan said he dumped them all at your place and left it with Flood before when he sent me home last night.”

Alan felt another stab of guilt at the mention of Paul’s cousin. They really needed to bring Ivan out to the pub and buy him a few pints. “Yeah, definitely.”

The atmosphere had changed entirely by the time Alan hung up and let himself back into the flat. Dave was sitting meekly on the sofa, wide-eyed and wary while a moody Fletch and Martin were watching the telly in a tense silence, clearly unhappy with each other about something. Catching Alan’s eye, Dave got up and tilted his head towards his room. Alan quickly followed.

Alan raised his eyebrows at Dave once they were in the safety of his room. “Brrr. What the hell happened when I was gone?”

“Oh, Mart got a text from one of his admirers last night, asking him out to supper. So he’s headed out later instead of eating with us,” Dave explained, striding over to his bed to flop on top of it. “Fletch got huffy and called Grainne over in retaliation to spend the night.”

Alan frowned in confusion. “But how does that--”

“I dunno, mate.” Dave held up his hands in surrender. “I just stay out of it all.”

“So I guess dinner plans for the four of us aren’t on the table anymore.”

Dave shook his head. “Not unless you want to play third or fourth wheel to whatever the hell’s going on outside.”

“No thanks. It’s just as well, I guess.” Alan sighed, picking up his bag and gathering his belongings. “I’ve got to get home and make sure all our gear is still in one piece. Flood helped me stash everything last night but I couldn’t ask him to go through it all with a fine-toothed comb.”

“Oh.” Dave sounded a bit lost here. He was sitting up on his elbows, biting his lip with a frown. “Y-yeah, all right.”

Alan stopped packing, watching Dave’s hesitant body language. Then he felt stupid for not picking up on it before. “You’re coming to mine, right?” Alan said gently. “I mean, it’ll be a bit boring, watching me go through all the equipment--”

“No! I mean, yeah I’m coming with you.” Dave was up on his feet again, beaming as he came over to wrap his hands around Alan’s waist. They rested their foreheads together, Dave hooking his thumbs under Alan’s waistband. Alan wanted to make a clever remark here, to tease Dave or toss in a joke about the cold war Fletch and Martin were currently engaged in. But he found he couldn’t. Dave was staring at him with this really fond, tender look that made Alan feel off-balance, like he was standing on uneven ground.

Alan didn’t know who leaned in for the kiss first, but it didn’t matter. They were both smiling like idiots when they pulled away.

“C’mon then.” Alan brushed Dave’s hair back, his fingers trailing over the shell of Dave’s ear and past his earrings, which made him shiver. “We should get home before Flood tosses all my gear in the skip.”

“Yeah, all right.” Dave seemed as though he had more to say, but he just ended up plastering one last kiss on Alan’s lips before pulling away to go pack his bag. Alan went to get his own things, pondering the moment they’d just shared.  
  
  
  



	3. Somebody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: The Black Celebration club in Soho, London is sadly fictitious. Otherwise I would be camped out there all year to watch the boys in action.

The next few days raced by for Alan like the speed of light. He had at least two essays and a photography project all due in the following two weeks. While he had already started on them earlier in the semester, he didn’t like the fact that he had put in far less time and effort than he had initially meant to. He already had a reputation among his professors and classmates for being fastidious and careful, a purveyor of the littlest details. The idea of turning in sloppy work made him cringe.

Dave also had a slew of exams to contend with, so at first they’d tried to plan time together where Dave could study and Alan could work on his assignments. But after multiple failed sessions that ended in frenetic sex and zero work or revision being accomplished, they’d reluctantly agreed to cool things down for a bit and keep their hands off each other for the sake of their grades. Alan simply could not imagine telling his parents he’d gotten kicked out of uni because he was busy shagging some bloke, and he fancied Dave’s mother would all too happily make the trip from Basildon just to hunt Alan down for making her son fail his classes.

They kept texting each other everyday, though. Dave would tell him about the cryptic exam hints his professors were dropping and about Fletch complaining that Miffles disliked him, and Alan would share the details on his photography project and ask for Dave’s opinion on the ones that left him conflicted. They talked about Alan’s upcoming gig at the Soho club, for which he and Paul had passed the audition. They talked about Dave’s mother and sister possibly visiting from Basildon for a day trip. They talked about the gifts Alan could get for his father’s birthday without burning a hole in his pocket.

They even tried video-calling once, but that had turned into a really loud session of Skype sex that had made Alan unable to meet Flood’s eyes for the next few days. They agreed - sadly - to keep it to phone calls and messages.

Thankfully there was a Recoil rehearsal scheduled for Saturday, and Alan was very much looking forward to the break in the monotony of school and assignments. More importantly, he would be seeing Dave for the first time in what felt like ages. Considering that they were used to seeing each other almost daily, a week felt like a lifetime.

Dave faithfully attended almost every Recoil rehearsal without fail, even though it must have been perfectly boring for him to just sit there, watching Alan and Paul fiddle with the equipment. But he didn’t seem to mind, busying himself with his textbooks or, more likely, his phone. Sometimes Dave would even discreetly snap a picture or record a video of them rehearsing; Paul didn’t raise any objections, so Alan hadn’t brought it up either. He’d wondered sometimes what Dave did with the photos and videos, but then again Dave was always very curious about his surroundings.

So it was a surprise when Dave texted him a few hours beforehand to ask if Martin and Fletch could tag along for the visit to Alan's flat. Alan was torn; he really did like Mart and Fletch a lot, but he’d also been hoping for some quiet time with Dave after the rehearsal. Flood was spending the night at Marissa’s, so the flat would be all theirs after Paul left. In the end he’d only hesitated briefly before agreeing to Dave’s request, simply because he didn’t want to look like some possessive arsehole demanding every ounce of Dave’s time. Besides, it would also be genuinely nice to see the other blokes too.

Alan started setting up the keyboards first, keeping an eye out in case anyone arrived early. Sure enough, he could soon hear a babble of voices approaching his door, followed by Dave’s trademark hurried knock. He stood up, already grinning from ear to ear as he unlocked the door.

“Hello lads--” Alan began before Dave grabbed him for a hard kiss, much to Martin’s and Fletch’s put-upon groans. Alan laughed against Dave’s eager mouth, his hands cupping Dave’s cheeks, just _happy_ to see him.

“Jesus, you’d think one of you just got out of prison,” Fletch scoffed, nudging Dave aside as he made his way into the flat. “Out of the way, Gahan, some of us are hungry.”

“So’s Dave, apparently,” Martin said, which made Alan chuckle as Dave swatted blindly at his friend, giving Alan one last messy kiss before reluctantly letting go.

The three of them made themselves at home on the sofa, setting down cartons of food and snacks while arguing among themselves, their fond tones speaking of a long familiarity with one another. Alan thought it was quite similar to the way he’d squabble with his own brothers, back when they were all younger.

As Alan set out tea and water for everyone, he noticed Martin was now peering over at Alan’s instrument set-up. Martin smiled a little sheepishly when he realised Alan had caught him looking. “Mind if I--?” he began, gesturing at the keyboards.

“Yeah, course.” Alan hopped over to show Martin and an interested Dave the general layout of his Korg, demonstrating how certain keys accessed different memory banks. They both were nodding as he spoke, although Fletch was squinting quizzically at the controls as if they were in Chinese.

They were interrupted by a sharp knock on the door, and Alan got up to let Paul in. His friend's eyebrows shot up in surprise when he saw Dave and the others, although Alan had already warned Paul beforehand. “Looks like we’ve got quite the audience today!” Paul said with a laugh, eyeing the food on the table in rapture.

After a brief round of introductions and a quick bite, Alan and Paul began their rehearsal. They went through ‘Drifting’ first, tweaking the recorded vocals provided by Paul’s schoolmate Siobhan in the jazz program. She’d been a really good and professional singer, but for their next song, Alan was looking for someone with a lower register, preferably a baritone. None of Paul’s classmates had been suitable or available.

Martin nodded along, closing his eyes and losing himself in the music while Dave started taking videos and pictures of Alan and Paul at work as he usually did. Fletch was eating noisily, eyes glued to his phone for football scores. Alan was certain he probably tagged along only because of Martin, which was fine by him. They moved on to a few other songs, Dave interjecting with suggestions here and there while Martin watched him with raised eyebrows.

“What?” Dave said in exasperation, cocking his head at Martin. “Why do you look so surprised, Mart?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Martin said with a little laugh. “Didn’t realise you were so involved.”

Dave rolled his eyes, while Paul shot Alan a look and mouthed, _Meow_ , his hand forming claws.

“Maybe we should take a break,” Fletch said warily, patting his pockets for his lighter and cigs. “Fancy a smoke, Mart?”

Martin stood up, nodding as he followed Fletch out of the flat. “Yeah, I’m gasping.”

Once they’d left, Paul looked up from his phone, his eyes widening when he realised what was happening. “Oh yeah, I need to go, uh, buy some cigs too.”

“Sure thing, mate,” Alan said, purposefully neglecting the fact that Paul’s full pack of Silk Cuts was clearly visible in his shirt pocket. “See you in a bit.” He kept his eyes on Dave as Paul stumbled out of the flat.

Once the door shut, Dave jumped to his feet, Alan almost banging his knee against the coffee table in his haste to get to Dave. They met halfway, kissing urgently as Dave’s hands roamed over Alan’s arms and face, his palms warm on Alan’s cheeks. “Fuckin’ hell, what a week,” Dave complained between kisses, grinding his hip against Alan’s thigh.

“I know, me too.” Alan was clumsily unbuttoning Dave’s shirt, just wanting to feel his bare skin even if it was only for a few minutes.

“Poor Mart.” Dave laughed breathlessly as his kisses turned to small pecks, like he was taking little sips from Alan’s mouth. “Poor Andy too, I guess. They’ve had to put up with me roaming around the flat all week like a, like a--” Dave paused, trying to think of the correct word as Alan kissed along his jaw. “--a very angry tiger.”

Alan chuckled, slipping his hands under Dave’s shirt and soaking in the warmth of his ribcage. He could feel how hard Dave’s nipples were, and he longed to have them in his mouth. “A very horny tiger?” Alan suggested, as Dave burst into laughter.

“Yeah, yeah, you could say that.” They kissed again, softer and slower this time. “It’s been a fuckin’ long week. I thought my dick was gonna fall off from disuse.”

Two things occurred to Alan at the same time his kisses lost traction. Firstly, did Dave miss him only because of the sex? And more importantly: it didn’t seem like Dave had gone to seek someone else to warm his bed, despite their self-imposed break.

“So you didn’t--” Alan cleared his throat nervously, unsure how to bring up this crucial conversation he’d been dreading - and anticipating - for a long while. It wasn’t the best timing, not when the others were due back soon, but Alan pushed on since they had stumbled upon this juncture, his pulse racing in his ears. “I mean, with someone else--”

“What?” Dave reacted as though Alan had struck him, his eyes wide with shock. “No, of course not!” Then his frown deepened. “Wait, did you--”

“No, I didn’t.” Alan took a deep breath, the claw of fear in his chest slowly easing as he watched the way Dave’s face lit up bit by bit at this revelation, his grin widening and his eyes full of emotion, crinkling at the corners the way they did whenever Dave was truly happy. Alan himself was smiling widely, feeling like he could breathe for the first time. “Dave--”

The door swung upon as Fletch and Martin let themselves in again, warily glancing at Dave to check if he was still on edge. The way Dave was beaming was probably more than enough assurance that things were fine now, so Martin primly took a seat while Fletch looked at Dave up and down. “So, you done being a twat?”

Dave flipped him off with a huge smile still on his face, which confused Fletch. “Piss off, Andy.”

Paul came back not long after, so they resumed rehearsal. Once they were done, Alan let Martin and Dave try out his keyboards while he and Paul discussed the upcoming gig in Soho. Martin perked up when he heard the name of the club. “Black Celebration? Been there many times,” he said, as Fletch nodded along. “You’ll like it, it’s very fancy. The theme is generally glam rock, with a bit of goth.”

“We should all dress up when we go,” Dave said, his leg jiggling up and down with excitement. He was still beaming, his hands restlessly shifting from his thighs to the armrests, then across his chest. Alan could see Martin and Fletch exchanging amused looks.

“I don’t mind doing anyone else’s make-up, if they’re interested?” Martin offered, looking over to Paul and Alan.

“No thanks, mate,” Paul said politely, gesturing towards his face. “No amount of make-up can save this ugly mug.”

“Do it for Al, Mart,” Dave suggested, a wicked glint in his eyes. “He’d be stunning with some eyeliner.”

“The only stunning happening around here will be me, keeping you away with a taser,” Alan said wryly.

They’d all started talking over one another about the Soho gig, so Alan was caught off-guard when he realised Paul had already packed and was ready to leave. Once Paul said his goodbyes, Alan briefly wondered if Martin and Fletch would be staying late. He didn’t want to chase them out, but he and Dave had been interrupted in the middle of quite an important moment, so Alan was anxious to have Dave to himself and hopefully resume that conversation.

Unfortunately, he soon discovered the real intent of Martin’s and Fletch’s visit. When Dave had coughed and loudly asked Fletch to accompany him and get some alcohol from the off-license downstairs, Alan’s suspicions were piqued. When Fletch meekly - but reluctantly - agreed to go with Dave, Alan’s defences were at DEFCON 1. He eyed them with a frown as they made their way out, Dave flashing him an apologetic shrug before the door shut behind them.

Then it was just him and Martin alone in the flat.

“Want more tea?” Alan offered, hoping he didn’t sound awkward. He and Martin had never really been left with only each other before, as Dave or Fletch had always been there as a buffer. Alan had the sense that Martin was someone who took a long time to let people in and become comfortable with them.

“I’ll just wait for Dave and Andy to get back with the drinks.” At least Martin’s smile seemed genuine, which helped to break the ice a little. Alan only nodded, clearing the half-drunk cups of tea and carrying them to the kitchen. If they were all going to get good and drunk, he hoped he had enough glasses.

When Alan came back out to the living room again, he noticed Martin was staring down at something in his lap, his shoulders stiff with tension. He was about to ask if something was wrong when he spotted the battered journal balanced on Martin’s thighs, and he thought, _Oh._

“You been writing long, then?” Alan asked, taking a seat on the armchair slowly as if Martin were a skittish horse, ready to bolt any time.

Martin seemed relieved that Alan was cutting to the chase. “For quite a while, yeah.” He shot Alan a shy smile. “Since I was 12. I’m not classically trained, though.”

“Doesn’t matter, really,” Alan said honestly. “It helps, but songwriting’s an innate talent, isn’t it? I mean, look at Paul McCartney. Bloke’s entirely self-taught.”

Martin nodded as if he already knew this. He was still clinging onto the journal, his knuckles white. “Since Dave said you knew about music, maybe you could--”

“Sure, of course.” Alan held out his hand for the journal. Martin sighed heavily before handing it over, looking as though he were placing his life in Alan’s hands.

After glancing through the journal, Alan decided that analogy was not quite far off the mark. The lyrics scrawled in Martin’s slanted handwriting were moving, deeply personal. Alan ‘played’ out the chords Martin had noted above the words, a little stunned at what he was hearing in his head. Before he knew what he was doing, Alan was scurrying over to the Korg which was still plugged in, turning it to electric piano mode and setting the book on the small music stand. He was about to choose a song to play when he realised Martin was staring at him in awkward surprise. “Oh I’m sorry.” Alan nodded towards the journal. “Could I--”

“Yeah, yeah of course.” Martin still looked deeply uncomfortable. Alan couldn’t fault him, of course. It was a huge exercise in trust. He’d remembered the first time he had ever shown his songs to Paul, expecting to be laughed at. Thank goodness Paul had been receptive instead.

Flipping to a page titled ‘Somebody’, Alan decided on this one as Martin had only indicated piano accompaniment and not much else. He tried out the chords first, testing out a few different variations until he noticed Martin perking up at one particular arrangement. “This good?” Alan asked, just for confirmation. Martin nodded, his mouth slowly crooking up in a smile.

It started with a G chord, soft and bright and hopeful, before it went through a deceptively sweet chord progression, the minor chords adding an undertone of melancholy and yearning to the song. Then, Alan was startled by Martin opening his mouth and singing along quietly.

_I want somebody to share, share the rest of my life  
Share my innermost thoughts, know my intimate details  
Someone who'll stand by my side and give me support  
And in return, she'll get my support._

Alan was trying his best to keep a straight face, to try and hide the fact that he was utterly _gobsmacked_ by the sweet, quiet tenor of Martin’s voice. He stumbled a little over the piano accompaniment, but the seasoned musician in him took over effortlessly as he continued listening to Martin, touched by the melody and the lyrics.

At some point in the middle of the song, they both heard the door opening as Fletch and Dave let themselves in, along with the clinking of bottles. But Alan didn’t stop playing, and Martin’s face temporarily reddened before he resumed singing.

_I don't want to be tied to anyone's strings  
I'm carefully trying to steer clear of those things  
But when I'm asleep I want somebody  
Who will put their arms around me and kiss me tenderly._

Alan paused here, his throat thick with emotion. Martin had his eyes closed as he drew out the word ‘tenderly’, his mind entirely somewhere else. Thinking of someone, maybe, the person who inspired him to write this.

Then Alan made the mistake of glancing over at Dave, who was still standing by the door and clutching the bottles of liquor. His jaw was hanging open, but he wasn’t staring at Martin in awe like Alan and Fletch were.

Dave was staring at him.

Alan had to tear his eyes away from Dave’s, focusing on finishing the song as Martin hummed the outro. They ended in sync, smiling broadly at each other as Fletch clapped wildly, shouting, “That was fucking amazing!”

“See, I told you, Mart.” Dave’s eyes were shining with pride, and something else Alan couldn’t identify. “Didn’t I tell you this was a good idea?”

“Hey, I was the one who suggested the diversion!” Fletch argued, but Dave wasn’t really paying attention to him, his eyes still riveted to Alan.

Alan was still trying to deal with the emotions warring within him. Hearing Martin’s compositions and his singing, coupled with the amount of _trust_ that the three of them had in him - it was a really big deal. He cleared his throat, hoping no one else would notice the way his hands were shaking. “So, one more?”  
  


***  
  


They’d tried out a few more songs, but both Alan and Martin seemed to be in agreement that these other compositions required a bigger wall of sound with more orchestration. Alan tentatively made a few suggestions for improvement; Martin smiled at some, shrugged at the others and even frowned outright when Alan suggested speeding up a ballad he’d written. Not wanting to push too far, Alan returned the notebook and thanked Martin for sharing his songs. Martin only ducked his head in embarrassed pleasure, laughing at Fletch’s jokes and Alan’s dry digs.

Dave was unusually quiet, though. He simply remained perched on the armchair in a daze, his eyes boring into Alan whenever he thought Alan wasn’t looking. At least Dave loosened up a little once they’d broken into the bottle of Stoli, mixing it with the rest of poor Flood’s orange juice. Alan made a note to replenish everything before Flood got back after the weekend.

Alan sat on the arm of Dave’s chair, reaching down for Dave’s hand. His fingers were ice cold. “Hey, you all right?” Dave hadn’t seemed right since he walked in on Alan and Martin sharing those few moments during ‘Somebody’. Surely he knew Alan had no interest in Martin?

But the smile Dave shot upwards at him was warm and sweet, dissipating the anxiety in Alan’s stomach. “I’m fine, honest.” He took Alan’s hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles before placing Alan’s hand against his chest. To Alan’s surprise, Dave’s heartbeat was racing. They remained this way for the longest time, holding hands - at least until they had to let go and stop a drunk Martin from trying to take off his clothes.

Seeing the state Martin was in, Fletch started to make noises about calling for an Uber home before they passed out on Alan’s living room floor. Normally Alan wouldn’t mind, as he had an air mattress stashed somewhere for this very purpose, in case Paul or any of his other mates wanted to stay over. But Dave was being very odd and subdued, and Alan wanted some privacy with him.

Dave followed him downstairs as they made sure Fletch and a ridiculously happy Martin - it seemed alcohol was the key to his shyness - made it safely to the Uber. “Text me once you lot are home,” Dave called out to Fletch, who gave him a drunken wave before the car sped off into the night. It was the first thing he’d said in a while.

As they were making their way upstairs, Alan shot him a knowing look. “Did I do something?”

“Huh?” The surprise on Dave’s face suddenly gave way to a smile. “No, no, Charlie, you didn’t-- Well, you _did_ , technically, but--”

“I’m not sure I’m following.” Alan came to a standstill in the middle of the stairwell, afraid to go back into the flat if it meant Dave was going to be off the whole night.

Dave let out a sigh, running his hands through his hair haphazardly and messing it up. “It’s-- you didn’t do anything, all right? It’s just that-- I have some things to think through.” Dave’s Bas accent was always thicker when he’d been drinking, but Alan thought he sounded clear and thoughtful here. So they couldn’t blame it on alcohol either.

When Alan was still hesitating, Dave reached out and drew him closer for a hug, taller than Alan for once because he was on the upper step. “You silly wanker. I’ve really missed you.”

This was more familiar ground for Alan. “Me too,” he whispered into Dave’s neck, feeling frighteningly vulnerable and overjoyed all at once.  
  
  



	4. The Things You Said

Dave ended up spending the weekend at Alan’s place. Although Alan had initially been concerned that Dave would behave weirdly after that evening with Martin, his worries turned out to be unfounded. If anything, Dave was more attentive with Alan, more thoughtful, even more tactile. Throughout the weekend he was always touching Alan, whether it was a hand on the small of Alan’s back or their knees pressing together while they watched something on Netflix. Alan would feel Dave’s eyes on him whenever he thought Alan didn’t notice. Dave would watch Alan talk with this odd little smile on his face, like he was both amused and fascinated. It was all really quite strange and Alan had no idea what had brought it on. But he wasn't stupid enough to rock the boat or question anything, not when everything seemed to be going fantastically.

Especially the sex. Alan was quite sure they’d set a record that weekend. He hadn’t even minded running down to the 24-hour newsagent’s in the middle of the night when they ran out of condoms, enduring the knowing smirks of the cashier when he paid for a jumbo box. Once Alan had gotten back to his room and found a naked and smiling Dave in his bed, it had made all the embarrassment worth it.

An hour later, a breathless Alan collapsed on top of a groaning post-coital Dave. “That had better not happen again."

“What? Why not?” Dave was sweaty and indignant, his shoulder tattoos glistening in the yellow light from the streetlamps outside. “I quite liked that thing you did with your tongue.”

“No, I didn’t mean that.” Alan swatted weakly at him. “We're _definitely_ doing that again. I meant-- condoms. We need to stock up.”

Alan could feel Dave growing still, his breathing slowly evening out. “I have an idea,” he said a little tentatively.

“Always a first time for everything,” Alan said sleepily, before he winced as Dave smacked his bottom in retaliation.

“I’m trying to be serious, you wanker.” There it was again, that really soft tone in Dave’s voice that had started creeping in more and more often with Alan. “I mean, like we talked about earlier-- we’re both not seeing other people, right?”

Now it was Alan’s turn to be still. After a moment of consideration, he raised his head slightly so he could get a better look at Dave’s face. Dave seemed uncharacteristically unsure and hesitant, like the first time he had come to watch Alan at Club Bastille so many months ago and he hadn’t known if Alan would welcome him or tell him to fuck off. Alan had never seen that look again, not until tonight. “No, we’re not,” Alan assured him with a little smile, stroking Dave’s thigh absently.

The relief that flooded Dave’s expression was immense. “Yeah, okay. Good.” Dave nodded now, more sure of himself. “I thought, maybe-- like, we could go get tested?”

“Oh.” The more Alan thought about it, the more it was a brilliant idea. “So, no more need--”

“--for condoms, yeah,” Dave finished for him with a little laugh, tackling Alan and flipping him over, knocking him out of breath momentarily. “What d’ya think?”

Alan was aware that it was definitely something bordering on a commitment, dressed up as a practicality. But truth be told, it was something he was more than ready to do. He only wondered why it hadn’t occurred to him before to suggest it; in his past relationships, he’d always been the more practical person, the one who could separate his emotions from his thought process. Dave was the first person who’d barged in and demolished all the carefully-constructed boundaries Alan had set in place to protect himself - and Alan had no idea why, or how.

“How does Wednesday afternoon sound?” Alan asked, smiling as Dave planted a kiss on his shoulder. “The uni clinic does free check-ups.”

“Yeah.” Dave sounded sleepy, satisfied and thrilled all at once. “Sounds grand, Charlie.”  
  


***  
  


It was two hectic days of classes and assignments before they went for the tests together on Wednesday during lunchtime. Then Alan had suggested hopping onto his Vespa and heading somewhere off-campus, where they could shop for his father’s birthday present and then grab a bite to eat. Someone - Alan couldn’t remember who - had once told him about a quaint little music shop in Bloomsbury, which was owned by a master luthier from Germany. He hoped he might be able to find something there.

Dave went ‘ohhhh’ in recognition as they came to a stop outside the shop, Alan parking his Vespa a few cars down. “I know this place, Mart comes here sometimes to get his guitars restrung,” he explained as he took off his helmet.

Alan shrugged. “Then maybe Martin was the one who told me about it.”

They both stepped in, the little bell above the door chiming delightfully like in an old movie. There was no one at the counter, but Alan heard someone shout from the back of the shop: “Be right with you in a minute!”

“No problem mate, we’re just browsing!” Dave called back, his eyes already drawn to the guitars on display. “Take your time, Charlie.” He patted Alan’s back in encouragement, before suddenly sliding down for a surprise squeeze of his bum, making Alan yelp and swat his hand away.

Now that Dave was distracted, Alan soaked in the beautiful, classic ambience of the shop. It had the smell of polished wood and old metal that Alan would forever associate with his parents' upright Bosendorfer, the one Alan and his brothers had practiced on for years and years. In the back of the shop, he could hear the soft tones of the owner talking to another customer, explaining to her why something was broken. Maybe she was here to repair her instrument.

Alan glanced through the instruments - all old and European, definitely out of his price range - before arriving at the accessories. Now this was more like it. What would his father need? A music stand seemed too small of a gift, even the beautiful artisanal ones. Alan ignored the cymbals, mallet bags and maracas; his father would have no use for those either. Somewhere near the front of the shop, Alan could hear sounds of strumming - Dave - and the low hum of his voice. Dave had never really properly sung in front of Alan before, but he really did have a nice, rich tone--

“Alan?”

Turning around in surprise, Alan found himself staring at Hepzibah, who was beaming at him. She was carrying a violin case, sunglasses perched on top of her head. It dawned upon Alan then that she might have been the one to mention the shop to him. “Hi, Hep!”

She leaned up to kiss him on the cheek in greeting. “Shopping for the upcoming gig?”

“No, I’m here to get a birthday present for my dad,” Alan said, jerking his head at the shelves of accessories. “What about you?”

She lifted her violin case forlornly. “Getting my beloved Carpini fixed. But the luthier says it may not be in time for the gig next month.”

“Ah, that’s too bad,” Alan said sympathetically. He hated being caught off-guard whenever one of his instruments was down for the count.

Her smile brightened again as she tilted her head at him. “Never mind me. So what are you getting for your dad?”

He showed her what he’d been considering: an handcrafted metronome made in Salzburg that kept time beautifully, or a professional piano tuning kit. He explained to her that he knew his father always preferred calling in professionals to tune the Bosendorfer, but he’d also mentioned wanting to learn more about the process. Hep made him list out the pros and cons of both the proposed presents, which admittedly made it easier for Alan to decide. Besides, he was already leaning towards the metronome. His father had always been fond of things made by hand.

There were footsteps behind them. “Oh, hello,” Dave said. He had his polite mask on as he glanced over at Hep. “I thought I heard voices back here.”

“Hep, you remember Dave, don’t you?” Alan stepped aside so Hep could reach up and kiss Dave’s cheek in greeting too.

“Yes, we met at the Camden gig, right?” An oblivious Hep was smiling broadly at Dave. “My friend Donna thought you were most dashing.”

“Did she?” Dave said, laughing a little. “You hear that, Al? Your friends think I’m _dashing_.”

“Thanks, now he’ll never shut up about it,” Alan told Hep, who winked conspiratorially at Dave.

“Will you be coming to the gig at Black Celebration?” she asked Dave. “Donna will be happy to see you there, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah, I will be.” Dave flashed her an apologetic smile. “Unfortunately, I’m very much spoken for. Please tell your mate thank you, though. And that she has brilliant taste.”

Hep made a show of sighing. “Ah well, she’ll be disappointed. Your girlfriend’s a very lucky woman, Dave.”

At this point there was an awkward lull in the conversation. Hep turned to keep browsing through the accessories, while Dave was giving Alan this expectant look, as though it were his cue to say...something? Alan had no idea what. He barely knew Hep, and he wasn’t going to wax lyrical about Dave’s private life to someone they’d only met twice. Maybe Dave wanted him to change the subject.

“Anyway, I was talking to Hep about what gift to get for my father,” Alan said, thinking it was a safe enough conversation topic. However, Dave was frowning at him quizzically for some reason. “It’s between this artisan metronome, or a set of piano tuning tools.”

“I vote for the metronome,” Hep said, holding it up in her hands and smiling at Dave. “What about you, Dave?”

“Erm.” Dave seemed a little confused and annoyed, barely sparing the metronome a glance. “The piano tuning thing, I guess.”

Unsure why Dave was suddenly so prickly, Alan tried to give the tuning tools more consideration, picking up the set and looking it over. He didn’t want to seem dismissive of Dave’s opinion. “I’ll be honest, my parents will probably save a fortune on piano tuning with these.”

“Save that for a Christmas present, then,” Hep said. “Your dad’s birthday present should be a bit more personal, I think.” She pressed the metronome into his hands, her fingers brushing against his.

Alan had to agree that she had a very good point. He eyed Dave, who was shifting about a bit restlessly and looking like he would much rather be somewhere else. It was a far cry from the Dave who’d cheekily groped Alan’s backside earlier.

“What do you reckon, Dave?” Alan normally had no patience for anyone’s tantrums or fits of pique - which seemed to be the direction this was heading in - but Dave was important enough to Alan that he was willing to try and act normal, at least in front of someone they barely knew.

Dave shrugged, not meeting Alan’s eyes. “Dunno mate, up to you.”

If Hep hadn’t been there, Alan would have rolled his eyes. He _had_ tried. “Alright, then I’m going to go pay for this,” he said, holding up the metronome.

“I’ll wait outside, I need a smoke.” At least Dave managed a tight smile for Hep. “I’ll see you at the gig, love. Good luck, yeah?”

“Sure, bye Dave!” If Hep had noticed anything untoward, she was polite enough not to mention it, planting a kiss on Dave’s cheek before he all but stalked out.

Alan watched Dave leave the shop, wondering what the hell was going on. He walked with Hep to the cashier, where the luthier was already waiting for them. They talked about their respective bands’ setlists as he paid, and the familiar topic - along with Hep's easygoing manner - helped Alan feel slightly less unsettled. Through the windows he could see Dave pacing outside the shop and taking deep drags of his cigarette, a storm brewing outside Russell Square.

Once Hep was done talking to the luthier about picking up her violin at a later date, they left the shop together. Further down the road, Dave was now waiting by the Vespa, already puffing on another cigarette. He wasn’t looking in their direction.

Hep glanced at her phone with a sigh. “I really don’t want to leave, but I’ve got a slew of errands to run.”

“It’s all right, we’ll see each other soon enough, in Soho,” Alan said, keeping half an eye on Dave.

She perked up at this. “That’s true. All right, I’ll see you at the gig. Text me before then, yeah?”

 _What for?_ Alan was perplexed, but not rude enough to voice his confusion. He gave her a friendly goodbye peck on the cheek, waving as she strutted off in the direction of the tube station.

The black look on Dave’s face was visible even from outside the shop, and it didn’t look any better by the time Alan made his way to the Vespa, carefully placing the wrapped metronome into his little carrier box. Dave’s face was tight with tension, looking like he was spoiling for a fight. Alan had seen him like this before, usually when Martin and Fletch were ganging up against poor Dave regarding shared chores for their flat, but Alan had never seen this look directed at _him_.

“Had a great time?” Sarcasm was dripping off Dave’s words.

Alan knew one of them had to remain calm, if this wasn’t going to completely get out of hand. “Why are you angry?” he asked quietly.

Dave scoffed, kicking at the curb. If he’d kicked Alan’s Vespa, they would definitely be having words, calm or not. “You honestly don’t know?”

“What, is it Hep?” Alan frowned at him. “It’s not like I knew she would be there--”

“I’m not an unreasonable bastard,” Dave snapped. “I’m talking about what you said to her!”

“So what did I say, exactly?”

“When she mentioned my ‘girlfriend’.” Dave hooked his fingers to make air quotes. “Why didn’t you tell her the truth?”

Now Alan really was taken aback, his control slipping. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t go around telling people who I’m sleeping with,” he said sharply. “It’s none of their business.”

Something blazed in Dave’s eyes: they looked dark and hurt. “So we’re _just_ sleeping together? Is that it?” He was no longer raising his voice, but he looked no less furious. “I’m just the bloke who helps you get off now and then?”

Alan threw up his hands in frustration. “Why are you putting words in my mouth? For God’s sake, Dave, I just went with you to get tested! I told you I’m not seeing anyone else. Didn’t that mean anything to you?”

Dave was shaking his head, his lips twisted up in a bitter smile. “I thought it did. But if you’re going to keep me your dirty little secret, then-- I think we have very different fuckin’ ideas of where we are right now, mate.”

Not many people could make Alan feel like he was going to blow his top, his blood pounding in his ears like war drums. People were walking past them, a few tourists already giving them curious glances. Alan counted to ten, furiously wrestling his temper under control and doing his best to calm himself down. Taking a deep breath, he reached for his helmet. “I’m not going to discuss this when you’re in this mood,” he finally said, undoing the straps. He’d lost all appetite for lunch. “I’ll give you a lift back to campus.”

Dave shoved his helmet back at Alan, already lighting up another cigarette. “Don’t fuckin’ bother,” he said over his shoulder, before storming off in the opposite direction Hep had gone in.

Alan was left by the Vespa, holding onto Dave’s helmet and wondering how the bloody hell it had all gone so wrong.  
  


***  
  


For the rest of the week, Alan’s phone remained ominously silent - at least when it came to Dave, anyway. An annoyed Alan threw himself into his photography project, which was due soon, and his free time was spent fine-tuning the new Recoil tracks he’d written. He sent them all to Paul, who complained that they were all even darker and more “brooding” than their usual material, whatever the hell that meant. Alan was not in the mood.

He _did_ admittedly pick up the phone a few times, just staring at Dave’s number in his Contacts list before tossing his phone aside with a frustrated sigh. Alan was certain he hadn’t been in the wrong, so he wasn’t about to make the first move.

On Friday afternoon, he received an email from the university clinic, giving him the all-clear for his STD check-up. It left a bittersweet taste in Alan’s mouth; he and Dave had meant to celebrate the test results together in style, but that probably wasn’t going to be happening anytime soon, not with the way things were going now.

Alan wanted to shout at something, to kick something, to make some very depressing and very dark music. Instead he locked himself in his room on Friday night with a bottle of Stoli, cranked up some Massive Attack until the bass rattled his walls, then drank until he felt like he absolutely needed to jump on his Vespa and ride over to Brixton, barge into Dave’s flat, shove him up against the wall and just get it all out of their system with an angry fuck.

Then he kept drinking until it stopped seeming like such a good idea.  
  


***  
  


It was a bleak Saturday for Alan. Not only had he woken up with a beast of a hangover, but he’d also spent a good few minutes pathetically wondering where Dave was before he remembered that Dave was mad at him for no good reason.

There would also be no Recoil rehearsal that weekend, because Paul was actually going out on a date with someone, one of Dave’s female friends. The bitter irony was not lost on Alan; Paul had constantly griped about being lonely and celibate while Alan had Dave, but now the tables were entirely turned. Alan would have found it funny if he weren’t so frustrated and heartsick.

Unusually, Flood was home that Saturday too, working on his own projects and talking to Marissa quietly on the phone. He had actually been quite a good sport about Alan’s mood that week, giving him a wide berth and not complaining about all the loud music Alan was blasting in the flat. He also hadn’t asked if Alan had fallen out with Dave, but Alan knew that it was just a matter of time.

That Saturday night, Alan decided to commandeer the kitchen table and repurpose it as his project board, so that he could lay out all the prints he’d developed in the darkroom and see which ones had turned out well. Flood was leaning against the counter and munching on some toast, knowing better than to bring anything with crumbs near Alan’s photos.

“Not used to seeing you without your shadow,” he heard Flood mention a little too casually. “You two had a tiff?”

 _Here it comes._ “I’d rather not talk about it.” Alan shot Flood an even look. “And Dave’s not my shadow.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Flood said with a wry grin, putting on the electric kettle to make some tea.

“Like you and Marissa aren’t any worse.” Alan reached over to select a print of a bench he’d shot in Hyde Park, half bathed in light. It was not quite bad.

“Actually, we aren’t. But that’s an argument for another day.” Flood took down the communal box of PG Tips and popped a bag each into two mugs. For some reason, he kept checking his phone. “Really, you look like utter shite. Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

Alan pursed his lips, staring down at his photos. Flood was one of the people he trusted most in the world. “It’s not really-- fuck, I don’t know.”

“You barely said a word when things got rocky with Jeri,” Flood reminded him gently. “And look how that turned out. Honestly mate, sometimes you do play things a little too close to the chest.”

Alan shot Flood a glare, but the idiot was just smiling sympathetically at him. Alan knew people tended to label him as aloof or detached - Jeri had yelled it at him multiple times, towards the end - but he’d always trusted the people close to him to know the difference, to understand that he was a private person but he did care about them in his own specific ways. He’d thought Dave had understood him, but maybe he’d gotten ahead of himself.

Alan set down his prints with a sigh. If he couldn’t talk about it with his oldest friend, then who on earth could he possibly confide in? Flood looked concerned and attentive, even if he was checking his phone more than usual.

“I mean, I don't know, maybe I’m being stupid.” Alan shook his head. “We had the most ridiculous fight over the smallest thing.”

“What happened?” Once the water was done boiling, Flood poured it into the mugs and dropped in a few sugars. His tea-making ritual was so calm and familiar that Alan felt a little soothed.

“I met this girl at the Camden gig, she was from one of the other bands,” Alan said, ignoring the way Flood’s eyebrows shot upwards. “I didn’t even talk that much to her, but Dave’s been really touchy about her.”

“Touchy how?” Flood handed him one of the mugs, which Alan accepted gratefully - far away from his prints, of course.

Alan explained to him about Hep, as well as what had happened in the music shop over his dad’s present, Flood nodding along as he sipped his tea. Alan was honestly still a little baffled over the whole incident, and it didn’t help that Flood winced when Alan came to the part about Dave shouting at him that both of them had “different ideas” before storming off.

Alan knew the all-too-quiet Flood definitely had something to say. “Okay, from the look on your face, there is apparently something I’m missing,” Alan said, wiping his hands as he started keeping his prints; he was obviously not going to get any work done today. “Please enlighten me because I don’t know what the hell went wrong.”

“You don’t?” Flood shook his head incredulously. “Well, you’re right about one thing.”

“Right about what?”

“You really are being stupid.”

Alan rolled his eyes at Flood. “You’re not helping.”

Flood let out a sigh. “Mate, if you don’t know why Dave’s upset, then I don’t think I _can_ help.”

“I told him I wasn’t seeing anyone else. What more does he bloody want?” Alan sighed, putting away his folio. “Fuck, I need to get out of the flat. Want to head to the pub? We can talk there.”

For some reason, Flood gave him a sheepish grin, glancing at his phone. “Er-- maybe in a minute? I’m waiting for a call from Marissa.”

“What?” Alan blinked at him. That didn’t even make sense. “You’re aware your mobile’s portable, right?”

They were interrupted by a series of hurried knocks on the door. Alan knew that pattern anywhere. He turned to raise his eyebrows at Flood, whose grin only grew wider. “Um, surprise?”

 _Now_ it made sense why Flood was home on a Saturday night without Marissa, and why he had been constantly checking his phone. “Bastard,” Alan muttered, ignoring the way his heart was now racing.

“Thank me later,” Flood called out from the kitchen, laughing when Alan flipped him off.

When Alan opened the door, he quelled the wave of concern rising in his chest. Dave looked terrible, like he hadn’t slept in days. His hair was a mess, his eyes looked dark and bruised and his clothes appeared to be whatever he’d just grabbed out of his laundry pile that looked clean. Even more interestingly, Dave was carrying a picnic basket, which was covered so Alan couldn’t see its contents.

And yet...despite how awful Dave looked, Alan couldn’t stop staring at him and drinking him in. All his frustration and confusion earlier were instantly dwarfed by the fact that Dave was here, clearly making the effort to extend the olive branch.

“Hey, Al.” Dave cleared his throat. “I, uh-- dinner?”

“I had toast earlier,” Alan said. When Dave’s face fell, Alan quickly added: “I meant-- I can still eat.”

“Oh.” Dave seemed a little more hopeful and cheery. He lifted the basket. “You up for a picnic, then?”

“Where?” Alan was more curious than anything.

“Flood!” Dave suddenly shouted, laughing at Alan’s confusion. “Got the keys, mate?”

Now dressed in going-out clothes and his jacket, Flood smiled as he fished in his pocket and handed Dave a set of keys. “Enjoy the evening, boys. I’m headed out to meet the lovely Miss Marissa.”

“You’re not coming back?” Alan wasn’t really paying attention anyway; he was still busy taking in Dave’s presence like a parched man stuck out in the desert for far too long.

Flood smirked. “As much as I want to be here for the make-up sex marathon, I have my own plans.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Alan pretended to aim for a kick at Flood’s shin, which he cleverly dodged before flipping the ‘V’ sign at Alan and disappearing down the stairs. Sighing, Alan turned back to Dave. “So, do I need to get the keys to my Vespa?”

Dave shook his head mysteriously. “No, just follow me.”  
  
  
  
  



	5. But Not Tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a huge thank you and hug to Mo who drew two pretty pieces of fanart for ‘A Question of Lust’:
> 
> 1) This depicts [the very first time Dave and Alan met](https://pinksyndication.tumblr.com/post/621232771152691200/fanart-for-a-dilder-fic-im-reading-its-so). Mo got Alan’s fury 100% down pat!  
> 2) (NSFW Warning) This is [the scene where Dave is trying to get Mart to leave while Al is just being horrible.](https://pinksyndication.tumblr.com/post/621407842503688192/another-fanart-from-my-current-fave-fic-i-rly)

Instead of heading downstairs in the direction Flood had taken, Dave turned right and began climbing up the steps. Grabbing his jacket and locking the door of the flat behind him, Alan followed obediently, driven by his own curiosity as well as the view of that wonderful arse in tight jeans in front of him. He and Dave were both a little breathless by the time they reached the tenth storey, which was the highest floor. Alan helped Dave with the basket as he dug in his pockets for the keys Flood had passed to him earlier.

When Dave unlocked the rooftop access door and stepped out into the night, Alan couldn’t quite hold back his smile. “Is this legal?” he asked, wondering how Flood had gotten access. Maybe he’d begged a favour from the superintendent.

Dave shrugged. “Flood didn’t say anything when I asked him to help.” He was looking at Alan like he couldn’t quite bear to tear his gaze away, his eyes soft and pleading as he beckoned for Alan to join him. “C’mon Al, indulge me.”

Knowing that he could never really say no to Dave, Alan stepped out as well with the picnic basket, making sure to keep the door wedged open so that they wouldn’t get locked out. The weather was a bit chilly, which was a given since they were at the tail end of April. But the night was nice and clear, with nary a cloud in the sky obstructing the bright moon, which was already thinning to a crescent. It was atypical London weather, and Alan was glad they were outside.

They made their way to a spot where they could get a clear view of the moon and the skyline of Alan’s neighbourhood. Not that there was much of a view in Clapham, and there was no chance of any stargazing, not with the amount of light pollution in London. But it was surprisingly nice to have the whole roof to themselves, to feel like they were the only two people around for miles and miles.

Dave took the picnic basket off Alan, unveiling it with a flourish and setting the cloth on the floor as an impromptu picnic blanket. He sat down and started taking out little containers of food from Tesco, looking up imploringly at Alan. “You gonna sit, then?”

Alan decided there was no more point in pretending he wasn’t charmed by Dave’s little plan. He took a seat next to Dave, looking over to examine the various boxes of potato salad, cold mixed pasta, hummus and pudding. Everything was vegetarian.

“Oh, hang on.” Dave reached into the basket again, fishing out a bottle of wine and two glasses. “Remind me to bring these back later or Mart will kill me.”

“You came prepared.” Alan watched as Dave unscrewed the cap and poured them a glass of Shiraz each, not commenting on the fact that Dave’s hands were shaking just a little bit. He must have been cold - or nervous.

Clinking their glasses, Alan sipped his wine and said nothing as Dave downed his in one go, then refilled his glass. He seemed like he was about to gulp that down too when Alan reached out and stopped him with a tentative hand on his arm.

“Maybe we should eat something first?” Alan suggested, picking up the little container of hummus and handing it to Dave with a packet of pita chips. “Alcohol on an empty stomach isn’t a great idea.”

Dave’s mouth crooked up in a little smile, as if touched by Alan’s concern. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Alan pretended to frown, placing a hand behind his ear. “Wait, could you repeat that? I don’t hear it very often.”

Chuckling, Dave shoved a pita chip at Alan’s growing smirk. “Wanker.”

They ate in comfortable silence for a bit, Dave growing more relaxed as he demolished the food. Alan let him eat most of it, a bit worried that he might have been neglecting himself over the past few days as he looked quite pale and gaunt. Alan was willing to bet at the very least that Dave hadn’t been sleeping, judging from his tired and bloodshot eyes. It wasn’t that much of a stretch to imagine Dave hadn’t had much of an appetite either.

“I-I’m sorry about the other day,” Dave said quietly, playing with a forkful of pasta salad.

Alan nodded to show he was listening, but he suspected Dave had a whole speech prepared and wasn’t done yet.

“Erm, I talked to Mart, and he helped me see things a bit more clearly, I think.” Pain crossed Dave’s features, though only momentarily. “The problem wasn’t really Hep, or anything. I felt so bad about that, because she’s so fuckin’ _nice_ , y’know? I think where it all went balls-up was that I had certain, uh, expectations, I guess. And it was unfair of me to assume you knew what they were. Or how I felt, y’know?”

“What sort of expectations?” Alan asked. He could feel his pulse racing, his stomach bottoming out the way it did when he was 12 and looking over the edge of the white cliffs of Dover on a family holiday.

Dave let out a dry, self-deprecating laugh here. “Maybe I should just shut my gob here and call it a day, eh?”

“No,” Alan said, which made Dave turn to him in genuine surprise. “That was the problem in the first place, wasn’t it? The...not-talking bit. Making assumptions. Right? If we don’t talk about it, we’re going to argue again.”

“Fuckin’ hell, Charlie.” Dave was rubbing his thighs now, his voice dry as kindling. It sounded as though it hurt him to speak. “Maybe it’s easy for you to say, it’s bloody impossible to read you sometimes--”

“Don’t say that.” Alan frowned at Dave, who was reaching for more wine. “You know me better than most people by now. Don’t take the easy way out and say I’m a hard person to read.”

“I’m not--” Dave made a strangled noise here, finishing the wine and topping up his glass with the last of it. Tipping back a mouthful, he ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “What I really meant was...I read you wrongly. Okay? Can we just leave it at that?”

“What did you think you read wrongly about me?” Alan could be a persistent bastard; he wasn’t going to let this go.

“Al--” Dave’s tone was a warning.

“Flood told me I’m being stupid. And I don’t know what I’m being stupid about.” Alan placed a hand on Dave’s thigh, but he was stunned to feel Dave trembling beneath him. “Dave? Help me out here.”

Dave’s hands fumbled as he reached into his jacket, his shaky hands pulling out a cigarette and his lighter. After a few tries he managed to get it lit, taking a long, shivering drag on it. He had his eyes shut, like he was trying to hold back everything before it came pouring out of him.

When Dave next spoke, it was barely a whisper and Alan almost didn’t hear him: “I thought you were falling for me too.”

Alan’s hand fell off Dave’s lap. He kept staring at Dave, who was still smoking with his eyes closed.

“I suspected it for a while. I mean, how I felt about you.” Dave’s voice was strange here, strained yet higher in pitch. He sounded so vulnerable. “But I didn’t want to, y’know, think about it. Or believe it. I wanted to keep seeing you, and just have a laugh and have you around my mates. And be around yours.”

Alan’s mind was racing at a million miles a minute, struggling to process the heartfelt tenor of Dave’s confession. “Dave--”

“Just let me finish, Charlie, please.” Dave let out a little laugh that sounded too much like a sob. At least his eyes were open again, though they were reddened. He took another long drag of his cigarette. “Then we can go back to whatever we were. Like, just shagging or whatever. Just let me get this off my chest once.”

“But I don’t--”

“Yeah, I know, you don’t feel the same way about me. Sorry, mate. I couldn’t help it. I tried denying it was ever happening. That I was falling for you, y’know?” Dave looked so lost and miserable here that Alan just wanted to hold him. “But I couldn’t hide it anymore. Remember that evening when you played Martin’s song for him? You should’ve seen the way Mart was floating around for days afterwards. He was so happy that someone he considers a ‘proper’ musician took his work seriously. And I was just so...”

Dave paused here, quickly wiping his eyes with the back of his hand before lighting another cigarette.

“You took the trouble to play my best friend’s song for him, with him. You brought it to life for him, when he’s only ever heard it in his head. And your piano playing, mate. It was gorgeous. The way you played, with that little smile of yours? Like you were putting your soul into it. Then you looked over at me, and I was a fuckin’ goner. All I could think about was Mart’s song, and how you were the person in that song, for me.”

Alan’s throat was so tight with barely-restrained emotion that he could barely speak. Flood was right; he really had been fucking stupid. He just kept watching Dave, who in turn was watching his cigarette burn down to nothing, wafting into the night air.

Tossing away the butt into an empty container, Dave wiped his eyes again with a sigh. But he seemed more in control now, more resigned. He was still refusing to look over at Alan, oblivious to Alan’s own emotional turmoil.

Alan had always known that Dave meant a lot to him, even right from the beginning. Dave had been so generous with him, so giving with his affection and time and laughter that Alan hadn’t even questioned it, he’d just accepted it and allowed it to shape his life accordingly. And his life really _was_ Dave-shaped now, wasn’t it?

The past two weeks without Dave - both over their self-imposed break and their argument - had been a complete exercise in misery for Alan. He’d missed waking up with Dave’s arm draped over him, Dave’s body radiating heat like a furnace. He’d missed Dave drinking juice straight out of the carton and incurring Flood’s wrath - and charming him into immediate forgiveness. He’d missed Dave’s valuable input when he’d been working on his music. He’d missed Dave walking around Alan’s flat in his underwear, talking to Flood and Marissa like it was no big deal. He’d missed Dave’s jokes, and he’d missed Dave laughing at his jokes.

He’d missed Dave in his bed, the sure way he already knew how to wrap his fingers around Alan’s cock and make him come with just a few strokes. He’d missed Dave’s heady kisses, whether he wanted to get Alan to bed or whether they were just messing about in the kitchen, burning breakfast together.

Dave had thought Alan simply regarded them as friends with benefits. And yet he'd still turned up at Alan’s doorstep anyway with a fucking picnic basket full of vegetarian food, because that was just how thoughtful and caring he was - even though he'd believed Alan didn't love him back.

Everything Alan had ever buried or hidden away over the past few months was resurfacing with a vengeance, demanding his attention and a closer examination. At that moment Alan _knew_ , with great certainty, how Dave must have felt when he watched Alan play Martin’s song. It was as though Alan was following through on his foolish schoolboy instinct twelve years ago and launching himself off the edge of the precipice, and he was now falling headfirst over the white cliffs of Dover.

But it was okay, because this time there would be someone to catch him.

“Thanks for letting me get all that out.” Dave’s smile was watery but genuine. At least he was finally meeting Alan’s eyes again. They were sad and reddened. “I don’t think I’d ever get the nerve again to say all of that. But yeah, I’d understand if you don’t want to do this any--”

“Dave,” Alan tried to keep his voice steady. “Just...shut up for a moment, please.”

Dave stared at him with huge eyes, wounded and heartbroken.

“Sorry,” Alan said with a nervous laugh. “I’m kind of having an epiphany here.”

“Oh.” Dave’s hurt was slowly vanishing; now he just looked confused. “Erm, okay.”

Alan just reached over and took Dave’s hand in his, the two of them sitting there silently for a long moment. Alan could feel Dave staring at him, waiting for him to continue. But terror was stopping up Alan’s throat, bottling up all the words he wanted to say.

“You weren’t wrong,” Alan eventually said, forcing himself to focus on the warm feel of Dave’s hand clasped in his.

“What?”

“You-- you didn’t read me wrongly.”

He was aware Dave was gaping at him now; his fingers were tightening around Alan’s.

“Are you joking around, Charlie?” Dave’s voice was fiercely brittle. But Alan could see the wild hope in his eyes. “If you’re taking the piss, I swear I’ll toss you off the roof and tell Flood you tripped.”

“Well, if you’re going to get violent about it--” Alan began with a chuckle before Dave leaned over and grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket, his laugh swallowed by Dave’s bruising, desperate kiss. He opened up for Dave’s mouth, letting go of Dave’s hand so he could cup his face. That familiar, ridiculously beautiful face. Dave’s cheeks were cold and damp, his stubble rasping against Alan’s palms. Dave was hiccuping with laughter into the kiss, pressing his forehead against Alan’s. His eyelashes were wet, and Alan smoothed away the moisture with his thumbs.

“You mean it, then?” Dave couldn’t stop smiling, his hands slipping under Alan’s jacket. It was getting colder, but Alan barely felt the chill.

Alan nodded, not trusting himself to speak for now. This was still all so new to him; he needed more time to grasp the enormity of it. But at the heart of the matter, he knew with absolute certainty how he felt about Dave. That was the one constant in the shifting tide of his emotions, the one thing he was very sure about - and Alan never did things by halves.

Dave’s eyes were searching his own for a long moment, but he must have found what he was looking for because his smile softened. “Should we go back downstairs?”

Alan glanced down at the food. “Can I eat something first?”

The way Dave’s smitten, hungry expression immediately switched to pure panic was hilarious. “Fuck, Al, why didn’t you stop me from hoovering up everything?”

Alan chuckled, digging into the picnic basket before he uncovered a forgotten cheese sandwich. “Here, this is fine.”

“Not with what I’ve got planned.” There was a wicked gleam in Dave’s eye as he shoved the remaining containers of food at Alan. “What were the words Flood said-- oh yes, our ‘make-up sex marathon’, isn’t that right? That man's a visionary.”

“You’re a pervert,” Alan said with his mouth full. “I take back everything I said.”

“Too late, Charlie.” Dave slung an arm around Alan’s shoulders, looking up at the waning moon before he turned to Alan with a wide smile. “You’re stuck with me now.”  
  


***  
  
  
It was really quite nice to sit on the roof and just talk, but eventually the wind picked up and Alan was starting to feel the chill even through his jacket. Dave must have seen him shivering, for he nudged Alan to get up. “C’mon then, let’s head back downstairs.”

They kept their chatter light - an unspoken mutual agreement, given the gravity of what they’d just admitted to each other - but Alan could see it in Dave’s eyes, the way he kept staring at Alan in quiet disbelief. Alan was sure Dave could read it in his face too; he felt shaken, but in a good way. Their kisses were soft, lingering ones that would leave them chuckling for no good reason.

Once they’d packed up the basket and cleaned up their rubbish, they headed downstairs back to Alan’s flat. Alan didn’t know why his nerves were so taut, a frisson of excitement running down his spine as he fished out his keys to unlock the door. Normally Dave would be playfully nudging at him to hurry up, or start kissing Alan’s neck to shake his concentration. But today he was oddly well-behaved, holding onto the picnic basket demurely with both hands.

However, Alan could Dave’s gaze resting on him, like a physical weight.

They scurried into the flat, gratefully soaking in the warmth as they shed their jackets. Dave went to rinse out Martin’s wine glasses and clean out the basket, while Alan sorted out the rubbish, sifting out whatever could be recycled and dumping the rest. Once everything was done, Alan could hear the squeaky slide of Dave settling onto the leather sofa outside and turning on some music. After Alan finished up, he went into the living room and joined a thoughtful and pensive Dave on the sofa.

Dave lifted his arm wordlessly, so Alan took the invitation and scooted closer, his shoulder and thigh pressed against Dave’s. Their hands found each other’s, and Alan let his thumb brush over the valleys of Dave’s knuckles. They listened to the soft, unfamiliar tune on the radio - it sounded like Dave had tuned it to Radio 6. It was a hauntingly beautiful song about redemption.

“I really do love you, Charlie,” Dave said quietly. “So much that it scares me.”

Alan looked over at Dave, whose face had always been an open book. Alan could see it all: his fear, his nervousness, the unbearably soft tenderness in his eyes. Dave had tried so hard to hide it in recent weeks, but Alan had unknowingly caught glimpses of it all the same. Alan couldn’t help wondering if he’d been careless too, if Dave had seen something reflected in Alan’s eyes now and then, responding to Dave’s own happiness.

“I’ve never said it to anyone before,” Alan admitted, as Dave’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Not even to Jeri.”

“Oh.” Dave blinked a little quickly. “Then--”

“I know how I feel,” Alan insisted, tightening his grip on Dave’s hand. “Just...give me time. Can you do that?”

Dave’s mouth crooked up in a little smile. “As long as I know you’re not going anywhere,” he murmured, uncharacteristically shy. “And I don’t pop by your flat one day to find you knee deep in an orgy.”

Alan held up a hand, his finger and thumb an inch apart. “Not even an itty bitty orgy?”

“Fuck off.” Dave cackled, resting his head against the back of the sofa. He was staring at Alan adoringly, running a tongue over his bottom lip and leaving it moist and inviting.

Well, of course Alan couldn’t leave that invitation hanging like that. That would be rude.

He slowly leaned forward, watching Dave’s smile slowly fade into a hungry look of anticipation. When their lips finally met, Alan let out a soft sigh, slipping his tongue into Dave’s mouth to explore it gently. Dave willingly opened up for him with a little moan, leaning back and letting Alan dominate the kiss as his hands slipped under Alan’s t-shirt, just to palm his skin. The warmth of Dave’s hands were a welcoming touch after the chill earlier, and Alan let the kiss grow hungry, nipping at Dave’s lips with little bites that left Dave breathless.

“Charlie,” Dave whispered, one hand sliding up to thread his fingers in Alan’s hair and tug on it. His intent became clear when he lunged forward to take Alan’s mouth in a bruising kiss full of teeth and tongue, using his hold on Alan’s hair to keep him in place while Dave kissed the life out of him.

They were getting hot and heavy on the sofa now, the room filled with the slick noises of their kisses and the low chatter of the Radio 6 DJ. Dave’s tongue was both coaxing and demanding, and he let out a breathless groan when Alan pulled away so he could suck on Dave’s bottom lip. He slipped a hand over the nape of Dave’s neck, the other brushing against the inside of his thigh. Dave let out a sharp gasp when Alan pressed the heel of his hand against the outline of Dave’s erection in his jeans.

“Bedroom,” Alan managed to huff out in his haze, his normally sure fingers fumbling with the button of Dave’s jeans. He didn’t know why his hands were so shaky.

“Fuck, yes.” Dave made as if to get up, but the clever bastard was actually moving to straddle Alan’s thighs, diving in for more kisses that left Alan breathless and aching.

They continued making out on the sofa like teenagers before Alan made an impatient noise and broke off the kiss, smacking Dave on the bum. “We’ve got a perfectly good bed waiting in my room,” Alan breathlessly reminded Dave.

“Good point,” Dave huffed, before they got distracted again by a series of increasingly dirty kisses. Alan was seriously considering flinging Dave down on the sofa and just having his way with him when Dave finally climbed off Alan, his face reddened and his legs shaky. He seemed disoriented, dizzy with lust. “C’mon Al, there’s no lube out here anyway.”

Cursing Dave for his common sense, Alan got up and followed Dave to his bedroom. Dave was standing at the door, eyebrows raised. “Whoa mate, you were really torn up about our argument, weren’t you?”

Alan craned his neck to see what Dave was looking at. There was a half-drunk glass of vodka still on his desk, and his dirty clothes were draped over the back of his chair instead of inside the hamper. His Massive Attack records were still scattered across his bed from his self-pity party on Friday night. Compared to the chaos of Dave’s room, this was actually not that bad. But for anyone familiar with Alan’s usual standard of cleanliness, this was the closest Alan had ever been to being a slob.

Dave was studying Alan now, a hand brushing back his hair. Alan shrugged under the intense scrutiny, certain Dave already knew the answer anyway. Dave’s eyes were so clear, so understanding. Instead of pressing Alan for a reply, he leaned in to resume their kiss, both of them fumbling to get each other’s clothes off.

As Alan gently shoved Dave onto the bed and climbed on top of him, they were kissing deeply, hands roaming everywhere before Dave pulled away. “Wait, you got your test results, right?”

“Yup, all clear.” Alan nibbled on his jaw, making Dave sigh. “You?”

“I’ve got everything,” Dave said solemnly. “From crabs to spontaneous electric gonorrhea.”

Alan buried his face in Dave’s shoulder, shaking with laughter as Dave chortled. “What the hell is spontaneous electric gonorrhea?” Alan asked with a chuckle, tracing the arch of Dave’s brows.

“Dunno mate. But whatever it is, you now have it too. Congrats.”

“Completely worth it.” A smiling Alan leaned down to nuzzle at Dave’s mouth, overwhelmed by an immense wave of affection for Dave that made his heart feel like it could beat right out of his chest. _I really do love him_ , Alan thought with startling clarity, as Dave hummed against his lips. Alan tried to channel it into the kiss instead, which was growing in urgency as Dave let Alan take over his mouth, his legs already spreading open so that Alan could make himself comfortable between Dave’s thighs - where he belonged.

Alan broke off the kiss to reach for the lube in his bedside drawer, glad that they finally didn’t have to bother with condoms. He spent an inordinate amount of time teasing Dave open with his fingers, greedily watching as Dave gasped in pleasure under his ministrations and begged Alan to fuck him there and then. But Alan took his time, trying not to be overwhelmed with everything he felt for Dave, crooking his fingers now and then just to make Dave shout and curse at Alan. His own cock was throbbing between his legs, neglected and dripping, but all Alan could really focus on was his fingers scissoring in and out of Dave, coaxing the most delicious sounds out of him.

“Please, Charlie,” Dave was begging at one point, his fingers clutching Alan’s shoulders with an iron grip that was probably going to leave bruises tomorrow. Alan loved it.

“Please what?” Alan let his fingers slip out, dousing them liberally with more lube before stroking Dave’s erection, making him cry out as he thrashed about in bed.

“You-- oh fuck, Al--”

“Shhh.” Alan shushed a groaning Dave with fierce kisses, unable to hold himself back much longer. He let go of Dave’s cock to slick his own with lube, then lined himself up and guided himself into Dave’s body.

Alan was stunned at how much of a difference a condom made, fighting to catch his breath when he was fully sheathed inside Dave. It was shockingly intimate, nothing between him and Dave, the experience magnified by all the other intimacies they’d traded tonight. Alan stared into Dave’s eyes, which were almost fully dilated by now as he gazed up at Alan with a dazed wonder, his thumb brushing against Alan’s bottom lip. Alan licked the errant thumb, locking eyes with Dave as he began sucking on it the same way he would with the head of Dave’s cock. Dave was moaning Alan’s name over and over like a mantra, and Alan was glad they were alone in the flat.

He fought to keep himself still until Dave nodded, then started thrusting into Dave until the bed was shaking, both of them out of their minds as their hands twined together. Alan took this opportunity to pin Dave’s hands down so he’d just have to lie there and take whatever Alan was giving him, which he was happily and vocally doing with great pleasure. When Alan’s heart felt like it was going to give out, he quickly let go of one hand and started stroking Dave’s cock rapidly, and for the first time they were able to drop off the edge together, Dave coming with a shout of Alan’s name while Alan buried his face in Dave’s neck with a moan, both of them sweaty and panting.

They lay there in silence for a while, their hands clumsily seeking out each other’s in a tight grasp. From outside, the radio was still playing music; they’d forgotten to switch it off in their hurry, but Alan was content to lie there with his head on Dave’s chest, listening to music from another room.

Dave sounded sleepy when he finally spoke. “Does this mean you’re my boyfriend now?”

Alan smiled against Dave’s skin. “That would be nice.” He didn’t care much for labels the way Dave did, but the caveman part of his brain did like the idea of calling Dave _his_.

“Brilliant,” Dave said with a happy yawn, before his breathing evened out as he nodded off. He didn’t let go of Alan’s hand.  
  


***  
  


Being Dave’s boyfriend, as it were, was not all that much different from whatever they were doing before. They still spent most of their waking time together, and Alan still hung out at Dave’s place and argued over football with Martin and Fletch, and Dave still came to Recoil rehearsals and joked around with Paul, and made breakfast for Flood and Marissa whenever their paths crossed. It was so normal and routine that Alan realised all over again why Flood had called him stupid, and why Dave had gotten so angry at the music shop. They were long acting like they were in a relationship before the question even popped up - it’d been obvious to everyone except Alan himself.

Happy that things with Dave were going brilliantly again, Alan now focused his efforts on the upcoming gig in Soho that weekend. Paul seemed distracted, smitten with Dave’s friend Nicole whom Dave had set him up with, so Alan had to take the wheel this time. Thankfully Dave helped, and so did Martin, who surprisingly gave some good suggestions over dinner when they were all eating Chinese takeaway in Dave’s flat.

Unfortunately, Dave and Martin had also managed to wear Alan down and convince him to let Martin apply a little make-up on him for the gig. Alan had agreed, only because Dave had promised to dress up for the evening and Alan didn’t want to look shabby beside him. They arranged for Martin, Dave and Fletch to come over to Alan's flat before the gig on Saturday evening so they could get ready together, then set off in Martin’s car.

The day finally came, and Alan’s stomach was a bundle of nerves. Martin was right; Black Celebration was very famous, and many bands and performers had gotten their start there. In the days before music streaming, there were rumours many record label execs often dropped by to scout new talent. Those days were long gone, of course, but Alan was aware that getting their music out there was crucial, and there was definitely still the odd record exec person lurking about.

Dave came over first with some lunch for Alan, along with a few garment bags that held his clothes for tonight. They fooled around a bit until Martin and Fletch turned up later with more clothes and Martin’s arsenal of make-up kits and brushes. “You really don’t need all of that, do you?” an alarmed Alan had asked, and Martin only responded with a chuckle.

Dave and Fletch used Flood’s room (with his prior permission, of course) to get ready, while Martin banned everybody from Alan’s room. It was a little strange, sitting here on his bed while Martin slowly dabbed eyeliner and make-up onto Alan’s face, humming under his breath as he painstakingly went about his work. Up this close, Alan could acknowledge that Martin was pretty in an aesthetic way he could appreciate, especially via his camera lens. But that was all it was: a visual appreciation.

Alan found himself wondering how Dave himself was coming along. He’d refused any make-up, although he took obvious joy in dressing up and preening. Alan couldn’t wait to see him, enduring the _dab-dab-dab_ of Martin’s make-up brush in the meantime.

Finally Martin let out a sigh, smiling at Alan. “Okay, think you’re all set.” Nodding his thanks, Alan stood up, walking over to the full length mirror on his wardrobe to take a look at Martin’s handiwork.

“Fucking hell,” Alan breathed out, blinking at himself.

Alan couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He was unrecognisable. His eyes were all smoky and dark, ringed with Martin’s expensive MAC eyeliner. Martin had also dabbed on a bit of eyeshadow and something that made Alan’s lashes appear miles longer than they really were. His skin looked smoother too, and Alan was startled to discover how much a tiny bit of make-up could bring out his cheekbones. His hair was teased to perfection, his fringe brushed back with the hipster pomade that Fletch liked to use. Together with the leather jacket he’d borrowed from Dave - as well as his own jeans and a black shirt with a mandarin collar - Alan thought he looked decent, at least decent enough to fit in with the pretty clientele at Black Celebration.

“You look quite nice.” Martin had that secretive, closed smile of his that made him look like he was enjoying his own private joke. “I’ll get Dave in to see what he thinks, yeah?”

“Yeah, alright.” Truth be told, Alan was a little nervous. He didn’t know how Dave would react to seeing him like this, all alien and glammed up. He teased away the strands falling into his eyes, mostly because they were catching on his unnaturally long lashes. Outside, he could hear Dave’s footsteps approaching, loudly asking Martin if he could borrow his cologne.

As the door swung open, Alan cleared his throat as Dave suddenly stopped talking, his gaze coming to rest on Alan. Martin was still hovering by the door, far too smug and pleased with his handiwork. “So what d’you think, Dave?”

With a deep breath, Alan finally laid eyes on Dave - and let out a whoosh of breath. Dave was dressed to kill; he had on a burgundy button-up shirt, the sleeves smartly rolled up to his elbows. He was in the middle of buttoning up a black vest that showed off his trim waist, and it nicely matched his black jeans and leather belt. He’d shaved for the occasion too, and Alan longed to lick the smooth, clean lines of his jaw. Dave’s hair was slicked back as well - not with pomade, but something that smelled masculine and old-fashioned, like it had come from a barber shop.

“You all right?” Martin cocked his head at the all-too-silent Dave, whose hands had stilled on his vest. He was staring at Alan in stunned silence, his eyes roaming up and down Alan’s body before he finally spoke.

“Mart.” Dave’s voice was low and husky. “Get out.”

Martin’s eyebrows shot up. “You’ll smudge Alan's make-up!” he protested.

Dave waved him away feebly, his eyes never leaving Alan. “I’ll do your laundry for a month.”

That had Martin’s attention. “And Andy’s too?”

Dave’s grimace was only momentary. “Yeah sure, whatever.”

“Please don’t destroy my hard work,” Martin warned him, although he was already collecting his things to leave. “It took me ages--”

_”Mart!”_

“All right, all right.” A chuckling Martin shot Alan a cheeky wink before he scuttled out, shutting the door and leaving the two of them in Alan’s bedroom.

“You look--” Here, Dave stopped and cleared his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. He looked like he was at a loss for words. “Wow, Charlie.”

“You too.” Alan could not stop staring at Dave’s strong, wiry arms in his rolled-up shirt sleeves, the cinch of his waist, the telling bulge at the juncture of his tight jeans. Alan had never, ever wanted someone so badly in his life.

He stepped forward first, reassured by the soft hitch in Dave’s breath. Placing his hands on Dave’s shoulders, he slid them up his neck to cup Dave’s face, smiling as Dave turned to press a kiss against Alan’s palm. Dave’s eyes were dark and predatory as he drank in Alan’s face, looking like he was torn between preserving Martin’s handiwork and turning Alan into a used, hot mess.

Their mouths were drawing closer, Dave licking his lips and leaving them wet. “Can I kiss you?”

“I’ll kill you if you don’t,” Alan muttered, his mouth muffling Dave’s chuckle which turned into a moan. Alan just took kiss after kiss from Dave’s mouth, gasping when he felt Dave’s hand sliding under his jeans to squeeze his bum.

“How much time’ve we got?” Dave murmured between kisses.

Alan’s eye fell on his alarm clock. “About fifteen minutes before we need to go pick Paul up,” he said breathlessly, massaging the back of Dave’s neck just to listen to him purr.

Dave considered this. “How mad will he be if we’re late?” he asked, making Alan chuckle.

“Very mad,” Alan whispered, catching onto Dave’s bottom lip and sucking on it, making Dave gasp. The kiss was fierce and urgent, but Alan forced himself to tear his lips away from Dave’s. It wouldn’t do to be late for such an important gig, no matter how much he was dying to rip off Dave’s clothes. Thankfully Dave seemed to understand too, sighing as he licked his lips and took deep breaths to calm himself down.

“C’mon.” Alan held out a hand to Dave. “After the gig, I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Dave stole one more kiss before they left the room hand in hand.  
  
  
  
  



	6. Black Celebration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The very lovely [what_could_have_been](https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_could_have_been) drew this very lovely [scene of Alan and Dave relaxing on the sofa from Chapter 2](https://what-could-have-been.tumblr.com/post/621981845170634752/did-another-one-for-this-amazing-fic). Thank you so much for this, it is amazing!

In the end, it was just the four of them taking Martin’s car, as Paul had decided at the last minute to get a lift from his cousin instead. The roads leading into Soho were clogged as expected on a Saturday evening, so Martin and Fletch spent the time stuck in traffic regaling Alan with embarrassing stories about Dave, who was either protesting loudly, shaking his head in mortification or hiding his face in Alan’s shoulder. Alan was just grinning widely, enjoying the potential for future blackmail - and secretly glad that the spotlight was elsewhere.

To be honest, Alan still felt a little self-conscious in all his make-up. He didn’t know why, because he wasn’t even the flashiest in the group. That honour belonged to Martin, who had pulled out all the stops tonight with his dark lipstick, glittery eye-shadow and a powdery foundation that made him look much paler than he was - which was the goth look, Alan supposed. Martin was wearing a black leather trench coat, his curls hidden under a black hat with a round brim. Alan had heard Fletch commenting earlier that Martin was supposedly topless under the coat, but he decided he was much happier not knowing.

Fletch looked good too in leather trousers and a long-sleeved black shirt, his ginger hair all slicked back with pomade. For once, he’d ditched his glasses for contacts. He hadn’t asked Alan to put his girlfriend Grainne on the guest-list, and there was no way Alan was going to prod.

Of course, neither Martin nor Fletch could hold a candle to the man sitting beside Alan in the backseat. Dave was all suave, trim and dapper in his shirt and waistcoat, a possessive hand resting on the nape of Alan’s neck. His touch was firm but absently gentle, not really looking to start anything but more of an unspoken claim: _mine_. The scent of Dave’s cologne was subtle, but still enough to drive Alan wild.

Alan tried not to glance over at Dave too much; he was worried that he wouldn’t be able to stop looking. However, Dave didn’t seem to have that same issue. He was watching Alan like a hawk, his gaze sharp and predatory. At one point Dave even leaned over to steal a few kisses, until an exasperated Fletch thumped the roof of the car and warned them: “Oi, don’t make me toss my Coke at you lot!”

“No one’s throwing any liquids in my car,” Martin said calmly as he turned into Wardour Street. “And stop hitting the bloody roof, Andy.”

When they finally arrived, Paul was already waiting for them outside the loading bay behind Black Celebration, chatting with one of the staff. Paul waved them down with a smile when he spotted their car, but his jaw dropped when Alan stepped out to go get the equipment from the boot. “Fucking hell, mate,” he said, gawking at Alan. “You-- you look like a fucking rock star!”

“All the flattery in the world won’t get you out of helping,” Alan muttered, shoving the keyboard case into Paul’s waiting arms.

Martin was grinning at Paul as he got out too. “Bet you’re regretting turning down the make-up offer, eh? It’s not too late, y’know.”

Paul snorted. “Sure, if I looked like one of you lot. I don’t care if you put diamonds on my face. You can’t fix ugly, mate.”

“They're working on a cure soon, have faith,” Alan said, grinning when Paul rolled his eyes at him.

Dave also received an equally shocked stare and an appreciative wolf-whistle from Paul, who started to complain that he felt drastically under-dressed compared to everyone else. As only Alan and Paul were allowed backstage, the rest of them decided to go grab something to eat nearby, before getting in early to get a good spot for the gig. Alan had tried his best to get Dave backstage access, as previously promised for missing the first Camden gig, but the organisers were much stricter this time around.

However Dave didn’t seem to mind. He’d been in a fantastic mood ever since the rooftop picnic, and Alan had to admit he was pretty much in the same boat. They parted with a brief kiss, and Alan couldn’t help lingering at the door to watch Dave walk off, appreciating the swagger in those hips until Paul came along and smacked the back of his head, startling Alan out of his stupor.

One of the staff came to fetch them for their soundcheck, so they brought their equipment out to the stage. Finally, Alan got his first real look at the club, standing on the small stage to take it all in. He’d caught glimpses of their Instagram feed, but it was nothing compared to actually standing here.

Black Celebration had high ceilings and black, forbidding walls, but its main feature were the glass-stained windows that ran the perimeter of the club. They featured a kaleidoscope of colours which offset the gloominess and lent it the air of some kind of demonic church.

There were also heavy red and purple velvet curtains draped over part of the walls, which gave the club a posh atmosphere (but which Alan suspected was really to dampen the sound and absorb heavy bass). On the curtain-less walls, posters of bands like Bauhaus, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Joy Division and The Cure were prominently displayed. The bar was situated along the left side of the club, back-lit with red LED lights, and its staff were already walking around to set everything up, dressed smartly in black and wearing heavy make-up like Martin.

“Wow, mate.” Paul stared around in amazement. “Now I _really_ feel fucking under-dressed.”

Alan gave him a dismissive wave. “You’ll be fine. Just don’t freeze on stage.”

“Piss off.” Paul chuckled, shaking his head as he set down their cases.

As they were setting up their equipment for their soundcheck, Paul shot him a look. “So you and Dave sorted things out, then?”

Alan frowned at him. He hadn’t even breathed a word to Paul. “How did you--”

“Oh c’mon, at one point you were sending me all these bloody depressing mixes,” Paul said with a chortle. “I know you’re a miserable bastard, but that was bad even for you. But things look much better now, yeah? Plus, the two of you keep looking at each other like you wished the rest of us would piss off. Nicole even said she’s never seen Dave this happy.”

Alan was unable to hold back his smile, pretending to focus on untangling the cables for his Korg instead. “How are things with her, then?”

Now it was Paul’s turn to look smitten. “Not bad, not bad at all.”

The soundcheck was over in less than twenty minutes, and Alan was really very happy with the club’s sound system and how the acoustic-dampening curtains let him get away with cranking up the reverb a bit. This was going to be a good gig. Soon the next band was waiting in line, so Alan and Paul quickly disassembled everything and left the stage. They were brought to their very own dressing room, which looked like a repurposed staff break room. It was tiny, but Alan didn’t much care. It was nice, having their own space during a gig. He checked his make-up in the mirror, which made Paul snort and roll his eyes heavenward.

They soon received a series of texts from Hep and the other girls from Miranda Sex Garden, who were asking whether Alan and Paul had arrived and finished their soundcheck yet. Apparently, the girls were stuck in Soho traffic too. After replying, Alan was contemplating whether to get a drink when he got a call from Dave.

“Hey, I got you something to eat in case they’re starving you back there,” Dave told him. In the background, Alan could hear Martin’s distinctive laughter. “Could you pop out to the front a bit? We’re in the queue. Bring Paul with you.”

“Sure, of course.” Alan happily dragged Paul with him out to the front of the club, looking forward to seeing Dave more than anything else. It was now dark outside, and there was already a long queue of people waiting for the club to open. Scanning the line, Alan immediately spotted the top of Fletch’s distinctive ginger hair, pointing him out to Paul. Fletch was leaning against the wall with Martin, and Dave had his arm around a shorter girl with thin brows and dark hair. They were all laughing at one of Dave’s stories as Alan and Paul made their way over.

“Nic?” a surprised Paul said, and she beamed when she spotted him, going up to give him a hug. “I thought you couldn’t make it!”

She smiled at Paul. “I canceled my poetry thing so I could come offer my support,” she said, before turning to Alan. “Hi, I’m Nicole.”

“I’m Alan.” He exchanged a kiss on the cheek with her, liking her already since she'd made the effort to come support Paul. “Whatever Dave and Paul have told you about me, they’re all lies.”

Nicole laughed, while Dave moved over so he could slip an arm around Alan’s waist. Already, Alan could sense other people in the queue looking over at them: many at Dave and Martin, and there was even one (probably nearsighted) girl making eyes at Fletch. It felt a little odd to be at the centre of so much attention, but Alan expected it would be even worse later when he was on stage.

Dave handed him and Paul some sandwiches with bottles of water, and Alan wondered if they had time to stay for a bit. Unfortunately, the bouncers announced to the queue that they were soon opening the doors for entry, so it was time to go. Alan managed to give Dave a quick kiss before he and Paul had to head back inside, leaving behind Martin and Fletch’s exaggerated smooching noises and Dave telling them to fuck off.  
  


***  
  


Recoil were the third band in the line-up, which was quite a nice promotion from usually being the first ones to grace the stage. Alan knew he had Hep and the other girls from Miranda Sex Garden to thank for this opportunity, so he decided to at least buy them a few rounds of drinks tonight. So far he hadn’t seen them yet, but Paul - who had been wandering around the club to watch the other bands - said that the girls had made it despite the bad traffic. Since it was too late for a soundcheck, they were going to get a drink and join Paul in watching the earlier bands.

Hep texted him to ask if Alan was coming to join them, but he didn’t want to get too sweaty before the gig and ruin Martin’s hard work. So he elected to stay in the little dressing room, texting Dave who kept sending him selfies of their group on the dance floor, having an amazing time. Alan couldn’t stop staring at the ones of Dave trying out his Zoolander poses for the camera. He’d probably meant it to be humourous, but Alan was pathetically too far gone to do anything but ogle. Dave was fucking gorgeous. Alan couldn’t believe how lucky he was.

The second band was now halfway through their set, which meant that Alan soon had to get ready. Paul turned up just as Alan was about to call him, sweaty and grinning. “You should’ve caught the first act, mate. Music was great, I had a great time dancing with Nicole.”

“I know, Dave sent me the video,” Alan said dryly. “He thought you were having a seizure.”

“Very funny.” Paul took off his glasses and wiped the sweat off his face with a towel. “I hope your hair melts on stage.”

“Idiot.” Alan chuckled, bringing Paul in for a one-armed hug.

Soon, one of the Black Celebration staff came to fetch them as the current band was ending their set. They loaded their equipment on two of the club’s trolleys and wheeled everything to the stage. The music was now booming through the club, and Alan could already hear the babble and chatter of the crowd from backstage. His heart was racing in his chest, although he kept his expression calm and impassive. Paul already looked nervous enough for the both of them.

The second act finished their last song, and the audience applauded wildly. Alan felt a little relieved when he spotted the members, who were wearing even more make-up than he was and had their hair in outlandish spikes. They nodded and smiled at Alan and Paul as they left the stage, so now it was their turn to set up, the club’s technicians running around to help them.

Alan spotted Martin and Fletch immediately; they had managed to grab a table near the front and were showing Nicole photos on their phones. Martin was indeed topless, donning only a set of what looked like leather and metal suspenders attached to his trousers. However, over at the next table, Alan was _very_ surprised to find Dave talking to the rest of Miranda Sex Garden, his arm around a smiling Hep. They looked so chummy that Paul had to nudge Alan to remind him that they had to finish setting up.

The club’s sound technicians were efficient and fast, so everything was ready to go in less than ten minutes. Alan could feel many eyes on him, but he kept himself calm by focusing on Dave, who was beaming at him from the front row with so much pride and affection that Alan was able to set aside his nerves. He smiled back at Dave, who winked at him and bent down to whisper something in Hep’s ear. She herself was staring at Alan with wide eyes, looking a little shell-shocked. Maybe she hadn’t expected him to wear make-up.

The MC, who reminded Alan of Dita Von Teese, came out on stage and introduced Recoil, reading off the short biography Alan had provided earlier. The audience applauded wildly, the most enthusiastic of whom was Fletch, clapping like a seal while Martin next to him hid his face in embarrassment.

Glancing over at Paul with a nod, Alan launched into the opening notes of ‘Prey’, more assured as the audience began to sway along to the music. As they moved on to some of the faster-paced songs, Alan spotted Dave leading Hep and the other girls to the dance-floor, where there were people already enjoying themselves. Since Alan knew the songs by heart, he let his hands run on automatic as he watched Dave spin across the club, his hips swaying seductively to Alan’s music. He was a consummate showman, causing many heads to turn and admire his moves.

Alan watched him with a little smile, especially whenever Dave caught his eye and trailed his hand seductively down his body, almost causing Alan to lose his concentration. After a near miss, Alan forced himself to focus, especially when he realised how many phones were up in the air, recording him and Paul. It would be embarrassing if the footage went viral not because of Recoil’s performance, but because the keyboardist could not stop salivating over his boyfriend.

As they were nearing the end of their set, Alan spotted a sweaty Dave returning to Martin’s and Fletch’s table, watching Alan as he tipped back a rum and coke. The members of Miranda Sex Garden were already making their way backstage, as it would be their turn on stage after Alan and Paul. They were at ‘Shunt’ now, their last song, and the audience really got into the music, everyone jumping up and down as the beats sped up towards the end, shouting along: _There's blood on the line!_ It felt surreal. The applause after the last note was thunderous, and Alan smiled as he took a bow with Paul.

The proud grin on Dave’s face, however - that was the only thing that mattered to Alan.  
  


***  
  


They were packing up everything in their little ‘dressing room’ when Paul got a text. “Hang on, I need to go pass something to Nicole,” he said apologetically, scurrying out of the room without even waiting for Alan’s reply. Still, Alan was in too good a mood to mind clearing everything up on his own; he was humming the refrain for ‘Shunt’ under his breath and shutting the clasps for his Korg case when there was a hurried knock on the dressing room door.

Then Dave’s head poked in. “Al?”

“Hey, how did you get in?” Alan asked, before laughing when Dave held up Paul’s artiste pass with a grin.

“You were fuckin’ fantastic.” Locking the door behind him, Dave strode over and kissed Alan in congratulations, the kiss turning just a little dirty towards the end. “Did you see how the audience went mental towards the end of ‘Shunt’?”

Alan nodded, letting his hands rest on Dave’s waistcoat. “It was a much better reception than I expected.”

“And you deserve it.” Dave gave him a few more pecks on the lips, before leaning back a bit to take in Alan’s face. “You were insanely hot on stage, too. Overheard quite a few cheeky remarks about you, y’know.”

“So?” Alan hooked a finger in one of Dave’s belt hoops, drawing him closer. “I only care what one person thinks about me.”

Dave was leaning in so close now that their noses were touching. “Oh? Who might that be?”

Alan took a deep breath, filling his senses with Dave’s cologne and that underlying scent that was purely Dave, all sweat and salt. “That bloke on the dance-floor, the one everyone seemed to be thirsting over,” Alan murmured, as Dave chuckled. Every time they spoke, their lips brushed each other’s. “I should go get his number.”

“Dumping me already? You bastard.” Dave laughed before diving in for a proper kiss this time, shoving Alan up against the wall and caging him in with his limbs. Alan let himself happily be caught, enjoying the slow drag of Dave’s body against his.

Eventually Alan pulled away before he lost control, wanting Dave in a proper bed instead of some tiny room backstage at a club where anyone could interrupt them. Dave too was taking deep breaths, adjusting himself in his jeans and trying hard not to look at Alan. “Later, then?”

“Probably for the best.” Alan gave him a resigned smile, before glancing down at the equipment. “Anyway I’m all packed up.”

“C’mon then, let’s go celebrate with the others.” Dave took his hand, jerking his head towards the door. “The night’s still young, Al.”  
  


***  
  


Martin, Fletch and the others had elected to move from their front row table to a booth in one of the darker corners of the club, where it wasn’t as noisy and they didn’t have to shout to be heard over the music. Dave and Alan joined them, and Paul scooted over so that they could sit together. They were about to order a round when a goth couple came over to congratulate Alan and Paul on their performance, then offered to buy them drinks as a thank-you. Alan accepted the compliment and drink with a heartfelt thanks, enjoying the vodka tonic. He was happy enough that Stoli seemed to be the vodka of choice for the Black Celebration bartenders.

Miranda Sex Garden were now halfway through their set, and Alan felt obligated to at least show his face and watch a few songs, in return for everything they’d done for Recoil. Alan turned to Dave and gestured towards the stage; thankfully Dave immediately understood and nodded, getting up to follow Alan. They ended up somewhere at the right, in between Hep and Donna.

The people around them were nodding and dancing along to the music, which was admittedly a lot more ‘rockier’ than Recoil. Alan thought goths were one of the most well-behaved but enthusiastic audiences he’d ever come across, and he would definitely love the chance to perform here again.

On stage, Hep switched from the keyboards to her violin. She caught Alan’s eye and waved to him with her violin bow, then winked at Dave beside him.

“So you’re best friends now?” Alan asked loudly, hoping Dave could hear him over the music.

“Who? Me and Beelzebub?” Dave chuckled. “She’s pretty nice once I stopped being a jealous sod.”

Alan blinked at Dave incredulously. “Wait, what did you call her?”

“Y’know, her name? Hepzibah? Sounds like ‘Beelzebub’, innit?” Dave was still beaming at Alan, so he decided it wasn’t worth pursuing. As long as Dave was happy, Alan wasn’t too overly concerned about the situation.

During a break between songs, Alan and Dave were approached by two girls wearing capes and goth make-up even thicker than Martin’s. “Hiya, could we buy you two lovely lads a drink?” one of them offered. “You’re both bloody gorgeous, we’d love to get your numbers.”

“Oh.” Alan shook his head politely. “Thanks very much, but we’re together,” he said, gesturing at Dave.

The girls looked crestfallen. “That’s too bad,” the taller one said with a sigh. “Thanks anyway. Great set earlier!”

Alan nodded his thanks, before turning back to Dave who looked like he was trying not to laugh. “What’s so funny?”

Dave’s eyes roved over him. “You’re the belle of the ball, Al,” he said loudly with a grin, so that Alan could hear him clearly.

Alan scoffed. “Think you meant Martin, mate.” They both turned back to glance at their booth; Fletch was currently glaring daggers at a tall Bowie-lookalike who was trying to chat up a flattered Martin.

They continued watching Miranda Sex Garden, occasionally fending off interested parties who were trying to chat up either Alan or Dave. One woman in a Victorian-style dress even propositioned both of them together, giving Alan and Dave such naked looks of interest that Alan felt the ridiculous urge to cover Dave up with Martin’s trench-coat. She went away disappointed like everyone else, even as Dave was shuddering. “Why do I feel like I need to shower in bleach?”

“You’re the belle of the ball, Dave,” Alan parroted right back at him, laughing when Dave rolled his eyes at him and bumped Alan with his hip in retaliation.  
  


***  
  
  
After the last band had performed, the club DJ took over and started spinning some really great music. Alan particularly liked the EDM remixes of some popular rock and goth hits; they made him wonder if he should try his hand at remixing some of the songs he liked. He’d always been fascinated by the process of deconstructing the different elements of a song and finding out what made it tick.

Dave had insistently dragged him out onto the dance-floor, Martin and Fletch following along while Paul and Nicole elected to remain in their booth and look after their things. Despite Alan’s reluctance to dance because of his two left feet, it was really a treat to watch Dave’s moves. He was a born dancer, his body fluidly moving to the rhythm with such ease that Alan’s throat felt dry. Dave’s waistcoat was now partially unbuttoned, part of his hair loosened from its hold and hanging over his face. He was covered with a fine sheen of sweat, and he looked dangerous. Dave on the dance-floor was not very different from Dave in bed; he was seduction personified.

Alan felt a finger under his jaw, trying to push it upwards. It was a laughing Martin, who was already halfway sloshed from the looks of it. Fletch was chuckling as well. “Close your mouth, Al.”

Grinning good-naturedly at both Martin’s and Fletch’s teasing, Alan danced with both of them for a few songs, turning to watch Dave every now and then. To his surprise, the girls from Miranda Sex Garden had found Dave on the dance-floor, and Alan remembered his intention of buying them a few rounds.

“Mart and I are heading back to the table first,” Fletch said, gesturing to their booth. “We’re knackered.”

Nodding, Alan went to join Dave and the girls, who greeted him loudly with kisses and hugs. He whispered in Dave’s ear that Martin and Fletch had gone back to their booth. “Think I'll go see if Mart’s at the point where he’s going to end up starkers,” Dave said with a laugh.

“Those complicated leather suspenders should slow him down a bit,” Alan said as Dave chuckled. “Anyway I’m buying drinks for the girls. Want anything? Your usual margarita?”

For some odd reason, Dave winced at the mention of that drink. “A rum and coke is fine. Thanks Charlie, you’re a love.” He gave Alan a quick slap on the bum with a cackle before he ran off to their booth, leaving Alan shaking his head in baffled affection.

The girls (and Ben, their drummer) were very receptive of Alan’s offer, and Hep offered to follow Alan to the bar so she could help him carry the drinks back. They talked - or rather, shout-talked - about their respective sets, Alan finally catching the bartender’s eye and giving his list of orders. As they waited at the bar, Hep told him about a few more gigs coming up, and Alan nodded as he listened. He was a little confused as to why she kept smiling up at him, her arm brushing against his. He politely moved back to give her more room, as it was a little squeezy at the bar. Alan’s back was almost touching the bloke beside him.

He was talking to Hep about the last band - the headliner, as it were - when she suddenly got on her tip-toes, leaning up to press her lips against his. He immediately jerked backwards in stunned surprise, knocking into the guy behind him. There was the sound of glass breaking, followed by the bloke swearing colourfully: “What the fuck, mate?”

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Alan immediately reached for some bar napkins to mop up the mess, but the staff waved him away as they efficiently took care of the situation themselves with rags and a broom. Alan sheepishly offered to replace the guy’s drink, and at least it appeased him a little although he didn’t stop glaring at Alan. However, Alan had more important things to worry about right now.

He turned back to Hep, who now looked hurt and confused. “I’m sorry,” she said with a sigh. “I thought--”

“No, it’s not your fault.” Alan’s mind was racing a mile a minute. He was still too stunned to think of how to respond. “I’m with Dave.”

Hep’s eyes grew round with surprise; she seemed speechless. “Oh.”

“I love him very much," Alan said, the words coming to him now as easily as music. “I’m-- shit, I’m so sorry, Hep.”

She shakily covered her face with her hands. “I’ve been so fucking blind.” Her muffled voice sounded odd, like Alan wasn’t sure if she was on the verge of laughing or crying.

The bartender was now setting their drinks on a tray in front of Alan and Hep, shooting her a sympathetic look. When her shoulders started shaking, Alan sighed and drew her in for a hopefully comforting hug, shielding her from the curious eyes of everyone else at the bar. Looking around to see if any of her friends were nearby, Alan thought he caught sight of the top of Fletch’s ginger head bobbing amidst the crowd, striding away from the bar and back to their booth - but Alan couldn’t be sure.  
  


***  
  


Alan had to make sure Hep was okay first. He brought her to the little waiting room outside the ladies’, sitting her down on the love-seat there before texting Donna to come and find them. She appeared fairly quickly, her brows knitting together in concern when she saw how quiet and subdued Hep was. “What happened?” she asked suspiciously.

“Er.” Alan didn’t want to embarrass Hep. “We had a bit of a misunderstanding, I think.”

“I’m fine.” Hep gave her friend a watery smile, which was not very convincing.

“I’ll go get her some water,” Alan offered. Since neither of the women said anything, he went back to the bar and ordered two bottles of water from the bartender. Craning his neck, Alan tried to get a glimpse of their booth; Dave wasn’t there, but Martin and Fletch were, apparently deep in a very serious discussion. Then they both turned to look at Alan, who quickly faced the bartender again. Fuck, Fletch must have been at the bar and seen what happened.

Alan’s phone buzzed in his pocket. It was Dave, of course. 

_im outside. we need 2 talk_

Ice filled Alan’s veins. He didn’t know what Fletch had told Dave, and how Dave was feeling right now. He was probably livid, given how he’d been jealous of Hep this whole time. Alan had repeatedly assured him that he had nothing to worry about, so of course this was not going to play out well. Alan paid for the bottles of water, then brought them back to the little waiting room. Donna had Hep resting on her shoulder, stroking her friend’s hair consolingly. When Alan handed them the bottles of water, Donna nodded understandingly at him and gestured for him to leave first. Alan felt relieved now that Hep was in good hands.

Not quite daring to swing by their booth to talk to Martin and Fletch first, Alan made his way out into the brisk night air, joining the small crowds standing outside the club to smoke. He kept an eye out for Dave, unable to find him among the unfamiliar faces.

Alan was about to give up and go back to ask Martin or Fletch where Dave was when he suddenly got an idea. He turned to head towards the back of the club, near where the loading bay was where they had arrived. He found Dave leaning against Martin’s car, blowing smoke rings into the air. His vest was fully unbuttoned now, his hair disheveled. Still, he looked no less devastatingly handsome.

Alan steeled his nerves to keep walking towards him. Dave trusted him, he would understand Alan had nothing to do with whatever Hep had planned. But at the same time, Alan knew Fletch had the tendency to exaggerate things.

Dave finally spotted him. He looked tired but still normal, not like when he had first turned up at Alan’s door with the picnic basket, a hollowed shell of himself. “Hey.”

Alan nodded. “Hep kissed me,” he said quietly.

Dave ran a hand through his hair. “I know.” To Alan’s surprise, Dave beckoned to him to come closer. “C’mere.”

Alan shuffled forward, leaning against the car too. Dave didn’t look angry or upset, so he shifted a little closer. Alan could hear Dave’s slow breaths as he took drags of his cigarette, as well as the bass booming from the music inside the club.

“Is Hep okay?” Dave asked, surprising Alan.

Alan nodded, not daring to say more. “Donna’s looking after her now,” he explained, to which Dave nodded in satisfaction before lighting another cigarette.

“Fletch was at the bar to get a drink for Mart and saw you two,” Dave said. To Alan’s confusion, the corner of Dave’s mouth crooked up in a little smile. “Said you shoved her away so fast that you broke some poor bloke’s glass.”

The relief that flooded Alan was overwhelming. He felt a bit guilty for being so quick to pass judgment on poor Fletch. “Not one of my finest moments,” Alan admitted. He hated being embarrassed.

“Really?” Dave quirked an eyebrow at him. “Cause I heard you said some bloody nice things afterwards.”

Alan rubbed his face. Of course Fletch had overheard the other things as well. “And suppose I did?”

Dave was now looking at him in mock outrage, folding his wiry arms across his chest. “Don’t you think I should get to hear those nice things for myself?”

Shrugging, Alan started chewing on a fingernail, suddenly and inexplicably nervous. “I tell you nice things all the time.”

Dave chortled, leaning in so that the entirety of his body was pressing against Alan’s. “Always knew you were a softie at heart,” he said teasingly, brushing back the runaway strands of Alan’s hair. Thankfully he didn’t seem to want to press the matter. “Should we go back in and look for Hep?”

Alan made a face at the idea. “Er, I don’t really think she wants to see either of us right now.”

Dave’s face fell. It was amazing, how quickly and deeply he cared for people. “You’re probably right,” he said with a sigh. “Then-- still want to dance?”

Alan shook his head, taking Dave’s hand in his and running his fingers up the veins in Dave’s strong arms, right until where they disappeared under the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt.

“So we’ll collect Mart and Fletch, and head home?” Dave’s voice now had a dark undercurrent in it as he took in Alan’s face. “I still haven’t gotten the chance to mess up that pretty make-up of yours, y’know.”

“I know.” Alan pressed a kiss to the back of Dave’s hand. “Better make it worth it, since you’re doing a month of laundry for it.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Dave groaned, as he pushed himself away from the car, tugging Alan with him. “Look what you’ve done to me, Charlie.”

Alan couldn’t stop smiling. “Of course this is all somehow my fault.”

Dave squeezed the back of his neck. “Smart lad.” He laughed when Alan pretended to glare at him, the two of them heading back into the club to collect their friends and Alan’s equipment.  
  
  



	7. I Want You Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The porn and fluff is back!
> 
> The very lovely [what_could_have_been](https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_could_have_been/pseuds/what_could_have_been) did more beautiful fanart! She drew the scene where [Martin and Dave had a heart-to-heart talk over Dave's fight with Alan](https://what-could-have-been.tumblr.com/post/622453713379917824/same-sofa-different-mood-for-the-pizza-verse). I can't get over how amazing it is!

As Fletch was the designated driver, he shepherded a drunk Martin to the car with Dave’s help, while Alan went to collect their equipment. Paul came to help shift everything to Martin’s car, but sheepishly told Alan he would be staying a little longer with Nicole. After bidding Paul goodbye with a quick hug, Alan went to settle his tab with the club and thanked the organisers again. Unfortunately, he couldn’t find Hep and her bandmates anywhere, so he sent her a quick text. He really hoped she was all right - she must have drunk a lot more than he realised since her reaction had been quite visceral.

As Alan walked out of the club and towards the loading bay, he couldn’t help scrutinising his actions over the past month since he’d known her, wondering if he’d led her on or given her mixed signals. He didn’t think so, but then again he’d confused Dave quite a bit too. Once again Flood’s words came floating back to his head: did he really play everything too close to the chest? It was something he had to think about when he was a bit more sober.

When Alan got to the car, he found Fletch strapping a giggly Martin into the passenger seat, while Dave was already nodding off in the back. Alan glanced at his phone. It was almost 2am - which was not exactly the latest they’d ever been out drinking - but the adrenaline of the gig was starting to wear off. Alan joined Dave in the back, lifting his arm so that Dave could lean against him, his head resting on Alan’s shoulder. Alan turned his head so he could bury his nose in Dave’s hair.

The traffic heading back to Brixton was much clearer on the way home, and Fletch spent the drive complaining about Chelsea’s latest disastrous transfer. Alan threw in a few comments here and there, not talking much mainly because he didn’t want to wake Dave. He must have tired himself out on the dance floor.

Martin was completely knocked out by the time they reached their flat, so Fletch got out first to unlock the door. As for Dave, he was stirring awake. “We’re home?” Dave whispered, pressing a kiss to Alan’s neck which made him shiver.

“Yeah, you all right?” Alan smiled down at Dave, who blinked sleepily at him.

Instead of answering, Dave surged up and gave him a deep, searching kiss, his hand slipping to the nape of Alan’s neck and rubbing it gently. Alan unwittingly let out a soft moan, which was muffled by Dave’s mouth. There was something different and thrilling about making out in the backseat of a car, the darkness illuminated only by the street lamps outside. It gave Alan an idea that he tucked away for a later opportunity, making him smile into the kiss as his hold tightened in Dave’s hair.

Then the passenger door was opening as Fletch bent down to pick a sleeping Martin up. “Come on you lot, help me get the door,” he instructed, thankfully too busy to notice Alan and Dave tangled together in the backseat.

Taking a deep breath, Dave squeezed Alan’s hand before hopping out of the car and helping Fletch as he carried Martin in, bridal-style. Alan sighed, willing his libido to behave before he emerged from the car. The chill in the night air helped with his half-hard erection, at least. He watched over the car until Dave came out again and tossed him the keys. After they carried Alan’s equipment in and left it in the living room for safekeeping, they went out to make sure Martin’s car was safely locked up.

Alan was just about to step in when Dave stopped him with a smile. “Remember here, Al?”

“What?” Alan looked around, puzzled.

Dave chuckled. “This is where we met for the first time.”

“Oh.” Alan started laughing, remembering how irritated he’d been after standing in the rain and being ignored for ages. At the time he hadn’t expected the door to be opened by someone like Dave - or to be charmed so guilelessly out of his anger, either. Smiling, he rested his forehead against Dave’s, thinking about how much his life had changed. Alan would still be delivering pizzas, not playing at gigs and earning a decent amount from them, to boot.

Most of all, he wouldn’t be this ridiculously happy, grinning like an idiot outside someone’s flat in Brixton, breathing in the same air as the man he loved.

“C’mon.” Dave gave him a kiss before pulling away, tugging Alan into the flat. “I believe I was promised a thorough ravishing earlier backstage.”  
  


***  
  


To Alan’s surprise, most of the make-up that Martin had applied for him had remained relatively intact; it seems Martin had used the good, expensive stuff on him earlier. His eyeliner hadn’t faded much, and his lashes still stuck out a mile. Peering into Dave’s mirror, he absently raked his hair back before shedding Dave’s leather jacket. Outside in the hall, he could hear Dave asking Fletch if Martin was all right, before Fletch said something relatively reassuring.

Now Dave’s footsteps were heading back to his room, so Alan took off his boots and perched himself on the bed. As Dave slipped into the room, he grinned from ear to ear when he spotted Alan already waiting in his bed. “Aren’t you a pretty sight? And waiting right where you belong, too.”

Alan merely leaned back on his elbows, his smile turning sly. He knew it drove Dave wild whenever Alan pretended to be unaffected by whatever Dave was doing to him. He watched with a detached expression as Dave crossed the few steps to the bed, an extra swagger in his hips.

However, Alan couldn’t help the soft gasp when Dave bent down and ruthlessly kissed him, using his hold on Alan’s hair to tug him back and expose his neck. Dave’s mouth moved down to his throat, kissing his Adam’s apple before nuzzling Alan’s collarbones. “Fuck, Charlie, you smell so good,” he rasped, before kicking off his shoes and pushing Alan down onto the bed.

They kissed fiercely for a good minute or so, wrestling for dominance before Dave finally allowed Alan to pin him down on the mattress. Alan pulled away from the kiss, panting as he gazed down at Dave, his burgundy shirt half-unbuttoned and his sleeves undone. His hair was mussed by Alan’s greedy hands, his eyes a deep brown in the soft lamplight of his room. His chest, naturally hairless and so firm and smooth, was glistening with sweat. Leaning down, Alan pressed a line of kisses down his sternum, listening to Dave’s breathing getting heavier and faster. When Alan ran his tongue across the bud of Dave’s nipple, Dave hissed and tightened his hold on Alan’s hair. “Fuck!”

The slight flare of pain caused by Dave’s pull on his hair was unexpectedly addictive. “C'mon,” Alan murmured between the kisses he was lavishing on Dave’s chest. “Be rough with me.”

There was a gleam of something in Dave’s eyes, which had darkened. “You sure, Al?”

Alan nodded, pressing his nose against Dave’s skin and inhaling the clean, salty scent that drove him crazy. “The whole night, I kept thinking about having you in my mouth,” Alan said, unbuttoning Dave’s jeans and drawing the zip down, leaning in to tug Dave’s black briefs down with his teeth.

“Oh fuckin’ hell.” Dave gasped as Alan eased his cock free, _finally_. He wasted no time in swallowing Dave as far down as he could; thank goodness they’d had lots of practice. Dave was shouting a litany of curses, hands fisted so tight in Alan’s hair as he guided Alan’s head up and down. Alan was sure Martin’s make-up was definitely getting destroyed as Dave promised, and it turned him on so much to be used for Dave’s pleasure, both of them so eager to have each other that they didn't even stop to take off their clothes. Alan could feel his own erection trapped in his jeans, but he was too caught up in Dave’s pleasure to bother about his own gratification for now. They had plenty of time for that later tonight.

When Dave was thrashing about in bed and moaning Alan’s name, Alan instinctively knew what would propel Dave over the edge. He pulled off almost all the way, flicking his tongue over the head of Dave’s cock. Dave thrust up without warning, groaning as he came in long spurts, Alan swallowing whatever he could although a stray streak of semen landed on his cheek. He couldn’t help smiling as he watched Dave sink into the sheets as he gasped for air, his grip loosening in Alan’s hair. “Fuck, Al.”

More than pleased with himself, Alan scooted up the bed so that he could get a better look at Dave’s face. Dave was still panting like a racehorse, his face entirely red. “You fuckin’ tart,” Dave said hoarsely with a laugh, fondly patting down Alan’s mussed hair. His eyes darkened again when he spotted the streak of come on Alan’s cheek, his thumb rubbing it into Alan’s skin. “Where the hell did that come from?”

“You were making eyes at me across the dance floor all night,” Alan said, adjusting his hips so that his erection was pressing against Dave’s thigh. Dave’s eyebrows jumped up when he felt it, his smile turning naughty.

“If you’re up to a shower, I can show you what I was thinking of doing to you the whole time in the club.” Dave grinned at him, tugging Alan down for a kiss and moaning when he tasted himself in Alan’s mouth.

“Sounds like a brilliant plan.” Alan gifted him one last kiss before getting out of bed, pulling Dave along with him.  
  


***  
  


Alan had no idea how to get the waterproof make-up off, but luckily Dave was already more than familiar with Martin’s complicated routines. They’d unearthed a tub of something called cleansing balm among Martin’s array of toiletries, and Dave helped him smear some on his eyes, gently rubbing them clean under the shower spray. When Dave was done, Alan poked his head out for a quick glance at the bathroom mirror, relieved that he looked like himself again.

They took turns soaping each other up, although Alan’s persistent erection kindly reminded Dave that he hadn’t gotten off yet. Dave was more than happy to oblige, backing Alan against the shower wall with his mouth on Alan’s neck, alternating between lavish kisses and soft bites. Alan closed his eyes, sighing as Dave’s hand wrapped around his cock, his grip firm yet slick with soap. He could feel Dave getting half-hard again, his deep moans driving Alan crazy as well as the press of his wet skin against Alan’s.

Unable to take it anymore, Alan pulled Dave’s head up for a kiss, gasping as he fucked the tunnel of Dave’s fist. Dave’s strokes were getting faster now, and he tugged down Alan’s lower lip so that he could suck on it. The greedy hunger in Dave’s eyes was making Alan lose control, his hands gripping Dave’s shoulders tightly as Dave released his mouth, whispering, “I want you to come all over me, Charlie,” as Alan shut his eyes and surrendered himself to Dave, groaning against his collarbone as his knees shook.

They fooled around a bit more before the water finally ran cold, Dave tossing a spare towel at Alan before drying himself. They took turns to clean their teeth - Alan already had his own toothbrush, sitting together with Dave’s in an orange cup - before sneaking back out to Dave’s room in nothing but their towels. Thankfully, Fletch and Martin’s rooms were still dark.

Not having brought any clothes, Alan pulled on one of Dave’s beloved Clash t-shirts and a pair of shorts with little cupcakes printed all over. Dave rolled his eyes when he caught Alan’s smirk. “Oh please, like you’re Mr. Fast Fashion.”

“I don’t have baked goods on my own shorts,” Alan retorted, dodging Dave’s attempt to yank them off. They shoved each other playfully in quiet laughter before tumbling into bed together, Alan wrapping his arms around Dave as they made themselves comfortable on the same pillow.

“G’night, Al.” Dave brushed his hair back, eyes roving all over Alan’s face. “Y’know, it was nice seeing you in eyeliner for a bit. But-- this is nice too.” The pads of his fingers trailed over Alan’s brows, his cheeks, his lashes.

Alan knew exactly what Dave was getting at. The night had been very exciting, but here in Dave’s bed, Alan felt a beautiful, quiet sense of peace and happiness that was coming to him more and more easily these days. Alan took Dave’s fingers, brushing a kiss against them. “I know what you mean.”  
  


***  
  


Alan woke up to the sound of Dave laughing. He liked the way Dave laughed - slightly bashful, often tapering off into delighted chuckles that made him sound more boyish. He turned over in bed, where Dave was reading something on his phone with the biggest smile on his face. “Morning.” Alan draped his arm over Dave’s chest, as Dave shifted to accommodate him. “What’s so funny?”

“People have posted quite a few videos of your gig yesterday,” Dave said, grinning as Alan perked up. “You should see some of the comments, though.”

“Oh?” Alan yawned as Dave handed over his phone to him, watching the video for a bit. It was a recording of ‘Prey’ taken from someone on the left side of the audience, the audio mostly distorted by the loud bass. It was a bit odd, watching himself from an outsider’s perspective like this. Thanks to Martin’s make-up and hair styling efforts, Alan could barely recognise himself. It was strange, reconciling this version of him with his own self-image inside his head.

“Scroll down to the comments,” Dave insisted, still chuckling to himself.

Although the video had only been posted late last night, there were already at least ten people commenting. Alan’s eyes widened when he read what some of them had to say:

> _“im not gay but the guy in eyeliner…”_
> 
> _“The keyboardist could step on me and I’d apologise”_  
>  And the reply under that: _“If he stepped on me with those boots, I would’ve thanked him”_

“Jesus,” Alan said, as Dave dissolved into laughter again. He handed the phone back gingerly. “Should I be scared?”

“Oh c’mon, it’s cute that you have fans now.” Dave grabbed his hand, planting a big exaggerated smooch on his knuckles. “This is coming from your number one groupie, yeah?” He waggled his eyebrows at Alan, making him chuckle as Dave pounced on him, the phone and videos forgotten.  
  


***  
  


While Dave was out getting breakfast, Alan made himself comfortable at the dining table, replying to some texts when both Martin and Fletch suddenly appeared out of nowhere and sat down opposite him with equally serious expressions. For a minute, he was worried they were going to confront him about how loud he and Dave were last night.

“You know what next Saturday is, right?” Martin asked him.

“Dave’s birthday,” Alan replied immediately, much to the apparent relief of Martin and Fletch. Dave had mentioned it in passing a long time ago, back when they’d first started sleeping together. Alan had made a mental note of it all the same, instinctively knowing even then that it would be important.

“We were worried he didn’t tell you,” Fletch explained, exchanging a wry look with Martin. “He can be quite daft sometimes.”

“He probably thinks I don’t remember,” Alan said, before allowing himself a small smile. “We were otherwise… _occupied_ at the time.”

“Oh God,” Fletch sighed, while Martin just chuckled. “So what do you have planned?”

Alan craned his neck, glancing out the window to make sure Dave wasn’t coming up the street. The coast was clear. “He said something about his mother and sister coming up from Basildon next weekend for a day trip?” Alan said, a little uncertain. “I’m not sure if that’s still happening--”

“Think it should be,” Fletch said, exchanging a nod with Martin. “They usually come up to London on his birthday and treat him to a nice lunch and some shopping, that sort of thing.”

“You’re thinking of taking him out somewhere after that?” Martin asked, bending down to pull a passing Miffles onto his lap.

“There’s a drive-in movie theatre somewhere near Enfield,” Alan said, privately pleased when both Fletch and Martin shot each other impressed looks. “They’re playing some horror film that night, I thought he’d get a kick out of that. So I reckon I’d rent a car--”

“Wait, why rent one?” Martin interrupted. “Just take mine.”

Alan quirked an eyebrow at him. “ That’s very nice of you, Mart. But are you _sure_ you want that?” he stressed, ignoring Fletch who shuddered. “We might, uh, want to do stuff.”

It seemed Martin had figured it out too, due to the pained expression on his face as he held up a hand to stop Alan from talking further. “Just-- um, give the car a good cleaning when you’re done, okay? And I don’t want to know any details.”

“Thought you said something about no liquids in your car,” Fletch muttered. Although nothing seemingly moved under the table, he suddenly yelped in pain, bending down to clutch his shin. “Ow, what the fuck, Mart?”

However Martin was ignoring him, wearing the most angelic expression on his face. “So what else?”

Alan shrugged. “After the movie, I figured I’d bring Dave back to mine and cook him dinner, then give him his present.” When he spotted Fletch pulling another face, Alan rolled his eyes. “No, I don’t mean _that_ kind of present, I have an actual gift for him.”

“What did you get him?” Martin asked, stroking Miffles before setting her down on the floor again. “I’m asking just so we don’t get him something similar.”

“It’s a leather jacket I saw him eyeing when we were in Camden,” Alan explained. “Does that clash with yours?”

“We’re getting him one of those daft video games he likes,” Fletch said, making a show of rubbing his shin and glaring at Martin. “No clashes there.”

Martin was smiling at Alan in approval, as though he’d passed some test. “I think Dave would be thrilled with everything you’ve thought up,” he said sincerely, which made Alan smile in turn.

They went on to explain to Alan that Dave’s friends from Basildon normally travelled up to London the night before his birthday, to take him out for a pub crawl. Alan had heard Dave mentioning some of their names before: Mark, Vince and another bloke named Daryl who had moved to London too. “You should come along,” Fletch said. “Meet the lot of them, yeah?”

“We have an audition for Recoil that night,” Alan said regretfully.

“Maybe it’s just as well,” Martin said. “Mark can be a handful.” The way he pursed his lips in distaste pretty much told Alan everything he needed to know about this bloke.

“Well, then the three of us can take Dave out on Sunday for our own thing,” Fletch declared, rubbing his hands together in glee. “Fancy some karaoke, lads?”

Martin laughed. “Are you sure you want to subject poor Al to your caterwauling?”

“I’ll have you know I do a brilliant Elvis,” Fletch huffed.

“Sure.” Martin added _sotto voce_ for Alan’s benefit: “Bring earplugs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Youtube comments in this story are actual comments I've seen in the wild, perving on Alan (not that I blame them!)


	8. World In My Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first part is inspired by the ‘World in My Eyes’ video.
> 
> Just wanted to say a massive thank you to the lovely [what_could_have_been](https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_could_have_been) for bringing [the shower scene in the previous chapter](https://what-could-have-been.tumblr.com/post/623146544766517248/in-the-latest-chapter-of-the-pizza-verse-series) to life! I still can't get over the wonderful details like their hands, their bodies, their loving poses. I am so blown away!
> 
> Note: Minor warning for one use of a homophobic slur in this chapter.

Over the next week, Alan patiently waited to see if Dave would eventually fess up that his birthday was coming up very soon. However, Dave remained stubbornly silent on the subject, except for when he finally confirmed his mother and sister were coming up to London for lunch on Saturday “just to catch up” - Alan knew better, of course. Not for the first time, he was genuinely glad that Martin and Fletch were somewhat on his side and willing to help him score brownie points with Dave.

However, Alan was surprised when Dave asked him to come along for the lunch. “It’ll be fun,” Dave pleaded insistently. “Sue’s a laugh, you’ll love her. And my mum will probably have lots of stories about Pete and Phil.” They were Dave’s younger, rambunctious half-brothers from his mother’s second marriage.

“Wait.” Alan took Dave’s hand in his; they were lying in Alan’s bed on a lazy Wednesday night, Alan’s laptop playing something on Netflix that they were both barely paying attention to. “So, are you saying you want me to meet your mum? And your sister?”

Dave’s nonchalant expression was betrayed by the deep blush blooming on his cheeks. “Yeah, guess so,” he said softly, not quite meeting Alan’s eyes.

Alan could sense how much this meant to Dave, despite his casual tone and manner. “Okay, I’ll come,” he said, smiling when Dave broke out into a delighted grin.

“Really?” Dave didn’t wait for an answer before diving in for a kiss, fingers sifting through Alan’s hair. They kissed for a good while before Dave pulled away, breathless. “I’ll make sure we go somewhere with vegetarian options, yeah?”

“I’ll be fine with anything.” Alan leaned over to tap on his laptop, closing Netflix and putting on Spotify instead. “So what do you want to do after that? For Saturday night?” Alan knew he was outright fishing now, but he was determined to get Dave to admit it was his bloody birthday at some point.

However, Dave could more than hold his own against Alan. “Dunno, hadn’t really thought about it. Maybe we could just stay here at yours? Have a quiet evening in, y’know?” Dave’s smile softened as he stared at Alan. “As long as it’s with you, really.”

The sincerity in Dave’s eyes instantly crumbled Alan’s resolve to make him come clean. Scooting closer, Alan traced the familiar lines of Dave’s face, unable to fathom how much Dave had come to mean to him in the space of a few months. “You’re such a sap, y’know that?” Alan said teasingly as Dave pretended to grumble.

“How am I the sap? Mart’s the one who cries at insurance adverts.” Dave nudged Alan with an elbow, chuckling when it descended into a playful exchange of smacks and abortive tickling attempts.

“Well, I’m not in a relationship with him, am I?” Alan said definitively, wrapping his arms around Dave and breathing in his familiar scent, a mix of male sweat and that oceany laundry detergent Dave liked to use.

Dave grinned at him, his eyes bright with something more than just humour. “No, you’re not,” he said, before resting his forehead against Alan's. “You’re all mine, Wilder.”  
  


***  
  


On Friday, Alan barely got to see Dave as they both had school to deal with. Later in the evening, Alan had to rush and get ready for the audition with Paul while Dave had to go pick up his friends who were taking the train up from Basildon. Poor Dave was probably still under the impression Alan had either forgotten his birthday or was unaware of it, but he seemed entirely fine with it. It was a refreshing change from Jeri, who used to put a lot of stock in the astrological importance of dates. Alan had always tried to be a good and considerate boyfriend, but there was a difference in celebrating a birthday out of duty, and planning a slew of surprises for Dave simply because he genuinely wanted to make Dave happy.

The audition for Recoil at a venue in Shoreditch went quite well, and the organiser even mentioned that she’d seen a few Youtube videos of their gig at Black Celebration. It felt very much like things were finally beginning to take off for Alan and Paul, and Alan was more than grateful that Dave had urged both of them not to give up in the beginning.

After the audition, Paul’s cousin Ivan came to fetch them and their equipment. In return for all his help, Alan and Paul decided to drop off the instruments at Alan’s place, then took Ivan to a pub near his house so he wouldn’t need to stay sober and drive. Over a late dinner and drinks, Alan was pleased to find that Ivan wasn’t quite as prickly as he initially seemed, loosening up after a few pints.

It was getting close to midnight - and last call - when Alan’s phone rang. To his surprise, it was Martin’s number. Alan quickly swiped the green ‘Answer’ button. “Hey, Mart.”

“It’s me,” came Fletch’s clear, sharp voice. He sounded quite pissed off. “Could you come down to Vauxhall?”

Alan sat up in the booth. “What happened?”

“Long story. How soon can you get here?”

Paul was already waving him off, indicating that he’d take care of a drunk Ivan. “I’ll get an Uber now,” Alan told Fletch, taking out a few bills to cover his half as well as Ivan’s share. “Text me the address.”

“Everything all right?” A worried Paul asked as Alan hung up.

Alan shrugged. “No idea.” He handed the money to Paul. “Let me know if this isn’t enough. I’ll pay you the rest on Sunday.”

“Oh yeah, Dave’s karaoke thing. Nic and I will be there.” Paul chuckled to himself. “The poor bugger still has no idea? Nic says he’s entirely clueless.”

Alan sighed dramatically. “At this point I don’t know if he’s being wilfully ignorant, or if he’s a better actor than Robert De Niro.”

After waving goodbye to Paul and Ivan, Alan called for an Uber, heading to the address Fletch texted him. He couldn’t help wondering what had happened, nibbling on his nails in the car and trying to ignore the little voice in his head that was worried about Dave.

The driver stopped outside a noisy pub near Vauxhall Bridge. Alan thanked him and got out, stepping aside as a loud group of drunks stumbled out from the pub. Once inside, Alan looked around until he saw Fletch standing near the bar, looking rather overwhelmed. He made his way over quickly, relieved when he spotted Dave sitting on a bar stool, resting his head on the bartop. Martin was in equally bad shape, slumped against Fletch who had his hands full trying to stop Martin from faceplanting on the floor.

“Oh, thank God,” Fletch muttered in relief when he saw Alan. “Can you help me get this lot home?” He tilted his head to indicate two more blokes nearby that Alan didn’t know; they too had their heads down on the bar, seemingly passed out. Alan guessed that these were some of Dave’s friends from Bas.

Alan went over to make sure Dave was all right first, standing behind him and stroking his back. Thankfully, Dave muttered Alan’s name along with a string of garbled words Alan didn’t understand. “What happened?” Alan asked Fletch.

“Mark happened,” Fletch replied with an eye-roll. “The evening was going fine at first. We were on our third pub when Dave told him about you.”

“Oh.” Alan could pretty much guess what happened next.

“Mark started getting upset and calling Dave a poofter, then Mart got upset too, and--” Fletch broke off as Martin suddenly lurched forward, almost falling off his bar stool if Fletch hadn’t caught him in time. “Anyway, Mark stormed out. Good riddance, honestly.”

“And I’m guessing Dave drank enough to kill a small horse,” Alan said, shifting closer as Dave started groaning.

“They all did.” Fletch pushed up his glasses with a sigh. “Why am I always the bloody chaperone?”

“I’m here now.” Alan looked down at the casualties. “I can take Mart and Dave back to your place, and uh--”

“Yeah, I’ll send Daryl home first.” Fletch gestured towards a bloke with dark curly hair, who lifted his head dazedly when he heard his name. “Then Vince can stay over at ours. He’s in no shape to take the train back to Bas alone.”

It seemed like a decent plan, so Alan called for two Uber cars first while Fletch went to help Martin throw up in the loo. Dave must have been really out of it, because he just kept groaning Alan’s name or muttering, “Fuckin’ Mark” under his breath, clenching his fists every now and then. Once Fletch came back with a slightly more refreshed Martin, Alan helped him and Dave into the first Uber with the driver’s help. On the other hand, Fletch’s Uber driver was extremely unhelpful, so Alan assisted with piling Vince and Daryl into the vehicle as well before sending them off. It amused him to no end that this was his first meeting with Dave’s Bas friends, and they’d probably have no recollection of it at all.

“Rough night, eh mate?” the Uber driver said cheerfully when Alan climbed into the car, wrapping an arm around Dave and making sure Martin was okay in the passenger seat.

“Bet you’re used to it,” Alan replied as they set off for home, stroking Dave’s hair soothingly.  
  


***  
  


The driver was kind enough to help with unbuckling Martin and supporting him into the flat while Alan had his hands full with Dave. Once he left, Alan made sure to add a decent tip to the charge, thankful that neither Dave nor Martin had thrown up in the car. Leaving Martin propped up on the sofa, Alan changed Dave out of his tight clothes and into something more comfortable. Halfway through, Dave made retching noises so Alan quickly dragged him to the loo, holding him up as Dave ejected at least half his stomach’s contents. Once he was done, Alan quickly washed his face and made him rinse his mouth with Listerine, knowing Dave would appreciate this in the morning.

Alan had just put Dave to bed when Fletch stumbled into the flat with Vince, the redhead, who at least seemed a bit more sober and alert now. “You okay with the sofa, mate?” Fletch asked him.

Vince nodded, before blinking blearily at Alan. “You Dave’s bloke?” he asked in an unexpectedly deep voice.

Alan couldn’t help smiling at him. “Yeah, I’m Alan,” he said, holding his hand out to Vince who blinked at it before shaking it a little too enthusiastically.

After making sure everyone was sorted out, Alan and Fletch finally heaved a sigh of relief, standing together in the living room and listening to Vince’s soft snores. “Cheers for coming down,” Fletch told Alan, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I couldn’t have managed on my own.”

“It’s fine,” Alan said, yawning as he checked his phone. He made a mental note to set an alarm so that they would not be late to meet Dave’s mother and sister, and before that he really needed to go home and grab a change of clothes, at least. “I’ll see you in the morn--”

To Alan’s surprise, Fletch suddenly grabbed him for a really tight hug, patting him heartily on the back. He smelled a little of alcohol too. Alan hadn’t even considered how a tipsy Fletch must have felt, confronted with four drunk friends. “You’re really good for Dave, Al,” Fletch said in a funny voice. “And now you’re my mate too, yeah?”

Alan really didn’t know what to say. In the end he simply nodded, patting Fletch on the back before releasing him. “Good night, Andy,” Alan said awkwardly, but his smile was genuine. Fletch gave him an odd little salute, grinning before he shuffled off to his own room.

After grabbing a quick shower, Alan filled a glass of water and set it on Dave’s bedside table with two aspirin tablets, foreseeing that Dave would most probably need them in case he woke up with a wicked hangover. Climbing into bed with him and setting the alarms for tomorrow morning, Alan wrapped his arms around a snoring Dave, running his fingers through the soft baby hairs on the back of Dave’s neck.

“Happy birthday,” Alan whispered against Dave’s skin, smiling when he remembered Fletch’s tight hug earlier.  
  


***  
  


The next morning, everyone was in a miserable state of affairs. Dave, Martin and Vince were dealing with terrible hangovers, while Fletch was still in a sulk about having to come to everyone’s rescue last night. Since Alan had to go home and get ready, he was actually a little glad he had an excuse to escape the awkward tension in the flat, giving Dave a brief goodbye kiss and agreeing to meet him and his family directly at the restaurant later.

Since he didn’t have his Vespa, Alan caught a bus back to Clapham, chewing on a nail the whole ride and trying not to think too much about meeting Dave’s mother and sister. This was the first time he would be meeting the parents of someone he was dating. Jeri’s family hadn’t been too accepting of him since he was much younger than her, so they’d decided it was best that Alan not meet her family unless they had gotten serious enough to discuss marriage. And it had never gotten to that point, so it had not come up at all.

When Alan’s family had celebrated his father’s birthday a while back, Alan had actually considered inviting Dave along. In the end he’d decided not to, unsure how his parents would react to what was him essentially coming out about his bisexuality. His dad’s birthday luncheon was hardly the most appropriate venue for that. His parents were still rather conservative, although Alan knew his mother had been quite pleased when same-sex marriage was first legalised in the UK.

Maybe it was something Alan could arrange for Christmas. Things with Dave were definitely getting more and more serious, and Alan was already starting to think for the long term. He briefly wondered if Dave had gone through all these mental gymnastics before asking Alan to meet his mother and sister. Probably not, knowing Dave, but Alan was touched by the gesture nonetheless.

When he got home, Flood and Marissa were in the midst of getting ready to go over to her place. “Don’t worry, we’re getting out of your hair,” Flood said with a wink. “We know you’ve got big plans tonight.”

“Oh, which reminds me.” Marissa ran into Flood’s room, then emerged with a small wrapped box. “Could you give this to Dave? It’s from both of us.”

“Ah, you didn’t have to. He’ll be thrilled, I’m sure.” Alan smiled at Marissa, kissing her cheek in gratitude.

After both of them took their leave, Alan quickly headed to the nearest supermarket to stock up on ingredients for Dave’s birthday dinner tonight, along with candles, wine and two small bouquets of flowers. Once he was done, he took a quick shower and got ready, wondering how formal he should dress. The restaurant they were meeting at in Knightsbridge had at least one Michelin star, so Alan decided to play it safe with a dark pinstripe shirt and his best pair of jeans.

Grabbing the flowers and his jacket, Alan hurried out to the Vespa and rode off to Knightsbridge. Traffic was starting to build up, but Alan managed to arrive with a good ten minutes to spare, even after searching for reasonable parking. Checking his reflection in a shop window, Alan hastily tidied the flowers before glancing at his phone. Dave had texted him, letting him know they were already inside the restaurant.

Taking a deep breath to steel his nerves, Alan gave Dave’s name to the hostess, who smiled and led him to a table near the large glass windows. He could see Dave laughing with two women, who both had his nose and smile.

Then Dave spotted Alan, his face instantly brightening a few thousand watts. “Al’s here!”

Alan kept a polite smile fixed on his face when the two women turned to look at him curiously. The younger of the two stood up first, offering Alan her hand. “Hiya, I’m Sue. ”

“Hullo, I’m Alan.” Shaking her hand, Alan offered her one of the flower bouquets he was carrying, before handing the other one to Dave’s mum.

“Oh, aren’t you lovely?” Dave’s mother was beaming at him, taking a sniff of the bouquet. “I’m Sylvia, it’s nice to meet you. Thank you for the flowers!”

“Pleasure’s all mine.” Alan was glad to take refuge in social niceties to hide his nervousness, taking the seat beside Dave. He felt Dave squeeze his thigh reassuringly. Dave himself was dressed in a flannel shirt over a tank top, his hair neatly combed. He seemed none the worse for wear, despite the hangover this morning; the aspirin must have helped.

They chatted over the menu and food options first, calling the waitress over to give their orders. Once she left, Alan asked how the drive was for both of them, coming from Basildon. Sylvia complained about the traffic, although Sue was clearly taking in Alan bit by bit, examining him for any flaws or curiosities, perhaps. Alan wondered how forthcoming Dave was with his family about his sexuality. After all, this was the first time for both of them, dating a man. Maybe Dave’s family didn’t mind at all.

This was confirmed by Sylvia’s next question. “So how long have you and Dave been going out, then?” she asked, sipping her water.

Alan looked over at Dave, who shrugged as he picked up his own glass. “Erm-- couple of months, maybe?” Dave said tentatively as Alan nodded.

“How did you two meet?” Sue said, which almost made Dave choke on his water.

There was no bloody way Alan was going to give them the uncensored version. “We bumped into each other at my old delivery job,” Alan said smoothly. “Then I met Dave again at one of my gigs.”

“You’re a musician?” Sylvia’s smile faltered a little.

“Alan’s band is great,” Dave said, his tone rather defensive. Across the table, his sister was frowning at him in warning. “They’ve played to hundreds of people.”

Thankfully they were interrupted by the arrival of the appetisers, and Alan was never more glad to make bland small talk about food. Sylvia launched into a story about Dave’s rascally half-brothers, who had pulled some prank at school that caused a fire evacuation. Alan listened with a grin, understanding where Dave had gotten his gift for storytelling from. After the entrees arrived, Sue took the opportunity to show Alan some family photos, while Dave and his mother spent the time catching up, namely discussing news about people back home in Basildon. Alan very much enjoyed how Dave’s accent was more pronounced as he chatted with his mother and sister, the closeness among the three of them more than apparent.

When the bill came, Sylvia quickly grabbed it before Alan or Sue could reach for it. “Now now, Alan, you’re still in uni. And Sue, you’ve just started work so none of this nonsense. “ Sylvia slid out her credit card and gave it to the waitress. “Let me do this for the birthday boy, at least.”

Alan tried not to smile when Dave froze beside him, shooting Alan wary sidelong glances just to ascertain his reaction. “Then lunch is on me the next time both of you are in town,” Alan offered, making Sylvia beam.

When the two women went off to the restroom, Alan turned to face a sheepish Dave, quirking an eyebrow at him. “Got something you want to share?” he asked, maintaining a deadpan expression.

Dave winced. “I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it,” he explained, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Oh, is that so?” Alan pretended to examine his nails. “Then let’s just do away with everything I’ve got planned for tonight, yeah?”

Dave’s eyes widened. “You knew?”

“Of course I did,” Alan said with a scoff. “You told me a few months ago, remember?”

Dave’s lips were curving up in a smile. “I didn’t think you remembered.”

Now Alan really couldn’t resist reaching out to smack him gently on the back of the head, grinning as Dave pulled a sad face. “Course I did. And even if I didn’t, Mart and Fletch sat me down in a mafia-style confrontation last week and tried to put the fear of God in me.”

Dave burst out laughing. “Did they really?”

“Well, I may have exaggerated a bit.” Alan smiled as Dave leaned in to kiss him, his hands cupping Alan’s face.

“So what plans did you make for tonight?” Dave had an impish glint in his eyes.

“Guess you’ll have to wait and find out.” Alan gave him one last kiss before pulling away when he spotted Sue and Sylvia on their way back to the table.  
  


***  
  


After lunch, Sylvia and Sue wanted to take Dave to Harrods nearby for a bout of shopping, so Alan excused himself and thanked them for the meal, exchanging kisses on the cheek. Promising to pick Dave up later, Alan went home first and started prepping the ingredients for Dave’s birthday dinner. He was actually quite a decent cook whenever he could be bothered, although he more often succumbed to lazy meals and takeaways like most uni students. However, tonight Alan was pulling out all the stops. Dave was going to get a salmon and bechamel sauce lasagna, while Alan was making a vegetarian one for himself. Dessert was a chocolate fondue thing spiked with espresso, for which Alan prepped cut fruits and marshmallows to dip in.

As Alan chopped the fruit, he found himself thinking about how meeting Dave’s mother and sister was not quite as nerve-wracking as he had imagined it to be. They were both really quite lovely, and he could see why Dave was so fond of his family. He wondered if he might be expected to travel back to Basildon in the future for family events like Christmases.

His phone buzzed, startling him out of his fanciful thoughts. It was Martin, letting Alan know that he could come and pick up the car at any time. After all the food was prepped and the table set for a candlelit dinner, Alan packed a bottle of wine, some glasses and the drive-in movie tickets before heading over to collect the car.

The atmosphere back at Dave’s flat was markedly better by the time Alan dropped by. Vince had already left, presumably on the way back to Basildon, and Fletch seemed to be in a much better mood. “How did you manage that?” Alan asked, jerking his head towards a whistling Fletch as Martin passed him the car keys.

Now it was Martin’s turn to give him a deadpan expression. “Do you really wanna know?”

“Right, message received.” Alan burst out laughing, clapping Martin on the shoulder. “Thanks again, mate.”

“Have a good time, see you tomorrow.” Martin actually gave him a wide grin before shutting the door, leaving Alan shaking his head with a chuckle.  
  


***  
  


“Are you kidnapping me?” Dave looked out of the car window as London fell away behind them. The sky was already darkening, the air slightly chilly now. “You’re kidnapping me, aren’t you?”

“Would you just sit still and enjoy it?” Alan said in mock exasperation.

“I’m just sayin’, people will look for me, y’know.” Dave pretended to quake in fear. “I know Mart would hunt the four corners of the earth for me.”

“Sorry mate, Mart was the one who volunteered his car for this.” Alan shot him a sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry. When they find your body, I’ll make sure he goes down as my accomplice.”

“I knew it.” Dave was shaking his head with a sigh. “Knew the whole bloody lot of you were in cahoots.”

Rolling his eyes, Alan concentrated on the GPS as Dave started chuckling, reaching over to fondly rub the nape of Alan’s neck. Dave was a very tactile person, and he loved touching Alan in little non-sexual ways like this, his own way of saying: _I’m here_ and _I’m thinking about you_. By now, Alan’s self-erected boundaries for physical displays of affection had been completely eroded in the wake of Dave’s clever onslaught of touches. These days, Alan found himself feeling weird or off if Dave didn’t have his hands on him after a while.

The GPS finally announced their proximity to the theatre, and Alan enjoyed the wide smile growing on Dave’s face when he realised where they were going. “I didn’t know they still had bloody drive-in theatres in England,” Dave said in awe as they joined the queue of cars waiting to get into the venue.

“Figured you might like it.” Alan shot him a knowing smile. “I got the idea when we were making out in the backseat last week.”

Dave’s grin turned sly. “You liked that too, huh?”

Alan kept his expression as innocent as possible, even as Dave gave him a dirty laugh. After Alan handed over his tickets to the attendant, Dave’s hand landed on Alan’s thigh, his touch firm and warm as it slowly slid upwards. Dave’s heavy gaze was raking up and down Alan’s body, making him feel like he was already naked.

The movie showing tonight was The Conjuring, which had already unnerved Alan the first time he had seen it so he wasn’t particularly keen on watching it again. However, he didn’t think they would be concentrating much on the movie tonight. Dave seemed to be on the same page, what with the way he was staring at Alan with dark, hungry eyes, his hand moving ever closer to Alan’s crotch.

They parked somewhere a little more secluded, but where they could still get a decent view of the screen. Alan reached into the backseat where his bag was, pulling out the wine bottle and the glasses. “A man of class, I see,” Dave said, smiling as Alan handed him a glass of pinot noir.

“Getting you drunk was part of my kidnapping ploy.” Alan smirked at him before clinking their glasses together, both of them taking a sip while sharing a heated gaze before setting their glasses down.

The movie started soon enough, and Alan waved away a movie theatre staff who was selling overpriced bags of popcorn. Once the man moved on to the next car, Dave slid closer to Alan, leaning in to take a deep whiff of Alan’s neck. “Fuck, you smell amazing, Charlie.”

Alan’s lips quirked up in amusement, but he pretended to concentrate on the movie even as Dave started kissing his neck, his mouth maddeningly hot and wet on Alan’s skin. Alan knew that all Dave needed to do was to move his hand a few inches upwards before he’d find how hard and affected Alan really was. He made a show of frowning at the screen, as though he were trying to follow the plot.

Dave made no such pretences, though. He was slowly unbuttoning Alan’s shirt so he could tug down the collar, his soft kisses turning to nips and bites that were definitely going to leave marks on Alan’s skin. Alan’s eyes rolled upwards in bliss as Dave finally settled between Alan’s legs, teasingly stroking a thumb against the length of his cock.

Dave’s lips travelled up to the shell of Alan’s ear. “Is this my present?” Dave whispered, greedily watching the way Alan was now breathing through his mouth in soft pants. “Can I unwrap it?”

“Shhh, I’m watching the movie,” Alan said breathlessly, which only served to make Dave laugh as he unbuttoned the rest of Alan’s shirt, mouth dipping down to lick and suck on Alan’s nipples.

Alan had to bite down on his own hand to stop himself from moaning out loud and attracting the attention of the other cars. Although his eyes were on the screen, he didn’t even know or care what was going on: his attention was fixed solely on Dave’s mouth on his skin, Dave’s hand between his legs and driving him crazy.

Lifting his head, Dave pulled Alan close and kissed him deeply, his tongue sliding against Alan’s in a hot, dirty dance of seduction. Alan closed his eyes and kissed back, ignoring the gear selector between them digging into his thigh. Dave tasted like wine and something sweet and caramel-ish; maybe he’d gone with his mum and sister for dessert before Alan had picked him up.

When they broke apart for breath, Dave brushed back Alan’s hair. “I feel bad doing this in Mart’s car,” he admitted, his tone heavy with guilt.

“Oh don’t worry, we have his blessing,” Alan explained with a little chuckle. “I originally wanted to rent a car, but he said--”

Dave pressed his hand against Alan’s lips. “Y’know what? I don’t want to know.”

Alan wrapped his mouth around some of Dave’ fingers, sucking on the tips suggestively. Now it was Dave’s turn to breathe through his mouth, watching Alan with lidded eyes. “Fuckin’ hell, Charlie.”

They went back to kissing in the dark of the car and the theatre, the only light coming from the flickering screen in front of them. Alan was about to suggest that they move to the backseat when Dave slid down the zip of his jeans, tugging out Alan’s stiff erection and stroking it skilfully, his kisses insanely distracting. Alan felt like he was going to explode, what with Dave’s just-right grip and the soft, pleading moans he was making in the back of his throat. Before Alan could move or beg or do anything else, Dave gave him one last hard kiss before he bent down and took in the tip of Alan’s cock in one swift, practised move.

“Dave,” Alan gasped out at the hot, velvet slide of Dave’s mouth, his hips thrusting upwards reflexively as the head of his cock bumped against the back of Dave’s throat, startling him. “Fuck, sorry--”

Dave pulled his mouth off to admonish Alan in a hoarse voice, “Stop it, I loved it,” before he dived back down again, his mouth much more lax this time to give Alan room to thrust up as he pleased. Alan’s hands slid into Dave’s hair, dictating the rhythm of Dave’s wickedly clever mouth which was quickly unravelling Alan bit by bit in this dark movie theatre lot. Since Alan had been given express permission, he started thrusting upwards into the wet heat of Dave’s mouth, going crazy when Dave started moaning around his cock, like he couldn’t get enough of it.

Alan thought he was going to lose his mind when Dave’s hand slid up his chest, his thumb circling Alan’s nipple. When Dave swirled his tongue around the head of Alan’s cock, Alan’s fingers tightened in Dave’s hair as he let go and came with a loud groan of Dave’s name, his legs weakening when he felt Dave swallowing around his cock. He was sweating and breathless, panting like a racehorse. At this point, he didn’t even care if the people in the other cars were looking over them.

He risked a quick peek, and stifled his laughter when he noticed many other couples were similarly distracted. Still, it was a good thing they’d parked further from everyone else.

When Dave raised his head, he looked _ruined_ and debauched, his lips reddened and swollen. Alan grabbed him for a kiss, a thrill running down his spine when he tasted himself in Dave’s mouth. They did nothing but trade kisses for a long moment, Alan catching his breath as he waited for his heart to calm down.

“Thought it was supposed to be _your_ birthday,” he told Dave, who gently headbutted him with a laugh.

“It is. And I very much enjoyed unwrapping my gift.” Dave’s eyes raked over him again, taking in Alan’s equally debauched and undressed state.

“We’re not quite done yet, I believe.” Alan kissed him again, his hand slipping between Dave’s legs and cupping his own eager erection. “And we still haven’t made full use of the backseat.”

Dave arched an eyebrow at him. “Oh? What did you have in mind?” he asked, unbearably smug.

“Think I packed lube somewhere with the wine,” Alan said, laughing when Dave perked up before stumbling out of the passenger seat and into the back as quick as lightning, Alan joining him barely moments later.  
  
  
  



	9. Stripped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to the lovely Pinksyndicate for this super cute and adorable fanart of Dave and Alan as animals (I love Alan’s swishing tail!)
> 
> Also a massive thank you to what_could_have_been for this beautiful artwork of Dave and Alan way back in Chapter 1 of ‘A Question of Lust’, after their very first time. I love this artwork so much, and how they’re both trying to hide they were already smitten with each other.

“Now that,” Dave announced as they stepped into Alan’s flat, “was a fuckin’ brilliant movie.”

Alan arched an eyebrow at him. They had been doing a _lot_ of things at the drive-in, but watching the movie hadn’t been one of them. “Oh really? What was it about, then?”

Dave shrugged. “Dunno. Something with dinosaurs, right?”

Chuckling, Alan rolled up the sleeves of his shirt before heading to the kitchen and opening the fridge. “I thought it had something to do with aliens,” he retorted loudly, enjoying Dave’s own laughter.

“Alien dinosaurs, then,” Dave called back, sounding rather amused as he joined Alan in the kitchen. His eyes widened at all the prepped ingredients Alan was retrieving from the fridge. “What’s all this?”

“Dinner,” Alan said simply, shooing Dave away. “Now go shower so I can shove everything into the oven and hope for the best.”

Dave looked rather touched. “C’mon Al, you know I would have been fine with sandwiches or something like that.” He was still staring at the food in disbelief, as though he were having trouble accepting that Alan was putting in so much effort just for him. “You didn’t have to do all--” he gestured vaguely at the spread, “--this.”

“Don’t thank me until we’re sure I haven’t burned down the kitchen.” Alan gave him a slap on the bum, startling Dave. “Now go on, shower. You’re a mess.”

“Cheeky.” Dave grabbed Alan for a quick kiss. “Thought you had to be nice to me on my birthday.”

“I was _extremely_ nice to you in the car earlier,” Alan said as he sprinkled cheese on the lasagnas. “In fact, I was nice twice, even.”

Dave huffed out a laugh. “That’s true. God, what have we done to poor Mart’s car?”

“RIP the Gore-mobile.” Alan shook his head with a grin. “All it needs is a good cleaning.”

“And some disinfectant,” Dave added. “Maybe a priest.”

They both couldn’t stop laughing, at least until Alan really had to shove Dave off to the shower so that he could finish cooking dinner. After putting the two different lasagnas into the oven and setting the timer, he took out the bag of chocolate buttons from the fridge and poured them into a bowl, so that they were ready to melt for the fondue later.

However, he almost dropped the bowl when a wet-haired Dave wandered into the kitchen in nothing but a towel wrapped around his slim waist. He was sniffing the air appreciatively. “Fuck, that smells amazing, Al.”

Alan was trying not to stare at Dave’s smooth, shower-dampened chest. “Food’s almost ready. You wanted something to wear?”

“Yeah.” Dave approached him, taking the bowl out of Alan’s hands and putting it down. Then he slowly started backing Alan up against the wall, pinning him there. “You.”

One kiss turned into two into three, until Alan was breathless with want, his hands skirting the top of Dave’s towel and loosening the knot. However the oven timer went off, making both of them groan.

“Leave it,” Dave pleaded, lavishing Alan with kisses.

“Our dinner will be burned.” Alan knew he was an utter hypocrite, what with the way his busy hands were already undoing Dave’s towel.

“So? We can call for pizza. For old times’ sake.” Dave laughed at the way Alan’s eyes narrowed at him. “All right, all right, I’ll go get changed.”

Alan shook his head at his errant boyfriend, who was at least tying his towel again as he walked away. “Besides, you’re not really _that_ insatiable, are you?” Alan called out. “We must have already desecrated poor Mart’s car, like, three times earlier today.”

“He’ll get over it,” Dave yelled from outside. Alan only shook his head as he took out the lasagnas from the oven, making up his mind to wash Martin’s car as thoroughly as he could tomorrow.

As Alan was setting the table and lighting the candles, his breath hitched when Dave emerged from his room, dressed in his own jeans and Alan’s favourite black button-down. Dave must have seen the expression on Alan’s face, because he plucked at the shirt and asked worriedly, “Is it okay if I wear this?”

“It’s fine.” Alan walked over, adjusting the collar before running a hand down the buttons. “It’s one of my favourites, that’s all.”

“Oh.” Dave seemed extremely pleased. “Knew I had good taste.”

“May I remind you about those shorts with the cupcakes?” Alan said with a scoff. “And you own more torn denim than that Tiger King bloke.”

“Hey!” Dave pretended to look offended, giving Alan a gentle shove. “What did I say about being nice on my birthday, huh?”

“You’re such a drama queen.” Rolling his eyes, Alan tugged Dave over to the dinner table, sitting him down before pouring out some chardonnay for both of them. Taking his own seat opposite Dave, they clinked glasses and sipped their wine, which tasted decent enough considering that Alan had blown most of his budget on Dave’s gift.

Dave was in raptures over the salmon lasagna. “Fuckin’ hell, this is amazing,” he said in disbelief between bites. “You’ve been holding out on me, Charlie.”

Alan grinned at him. “I’d only planned to pull out the Michelin-starred meals once you got tired of my skills in the bedroom.”

There was a spark of mischief in Dave’s eyes. “Then you should have pulled the meals out a lot sooner, eh?”

“Cheeky.” Alan prodded Dave with his foot in retaliation under the table, and Dave simply nudged back with a laugh, rubbing his leg against Alan’s calf.

They ate and chatted while playing footsie, and Dave finished the lasagna in record time, which pleased Alan immensely. Clearing their plates, Alan went to prepare the fondue, stirring in some espresso before he brought it to the table with the cut fruits and marshmallows. He was actually a little worried he might have overdone things, but once he saw the stunned and appreciative expression on Dave’s face, he was glad he’d gone to all that effort.

“Fuck.” Dave was staring at the platter and the small bowl of fondue. “How much time did you spend on this?”

Alan lifted his shoulder in a shrug. “Think I put it all together after I left your place this morning.” He shot Dave a sympathetic look. “I heard from Fletch that last night didn’t go well.”

Brackets appeared on both sides of Dave’s mouth in a brief flash of anger. “Got no time for homophobic friends,” he muttered, rolling up his sleeves in a huff.

“Vince was nice, though,” Alan said, just to dispel the dark cloud hanging above Dave’s head. “Didn’t get to talk to Daryl, but he seemed alright.”

At least that made Dave smile a little. “You’ll meet them another time,” he promised. He picked up a slice of pineapple. “So-- do I just dip this in here, or what?”

Shifting his chair over so that they were sitting side by side, Alan showed Dave what to do. Of course, it had all been a wicked ploy on Dave’s part to plead ignorance so he could get Alan beside him, the both of them pelting each other with marshmallows in quiet laughter. Alan had to admit that it wasn’t quite a hardship though, getting a close-up view of Dave licking chocolate off his fingers.

Alan wasn’t sure who started the kiss, but it was quickly deepening, Dave tasting of wine and pineapple and chocolate. But the kiss wasn’t getting heated or hungry; instead it was tapering off into something gentle and sacred, Dave’s hands cupping his face like he was afraid Alan would disappear if he let go. Alan was much doing the same, his hands steadfastly on Dave’s waist as he pulled away, caught up in the moment. Dave’s eyes were a clear light brown in the dim candlelight, full of affection and something deeper that would have scared Alan off a lifetime ago, but not anymore.

“I love you,” Alan said quietly, breathing life into the words he’d carried in secret for the last few weeks. He smiled at the stunned surprise in Dave’s eyes, knowing that Dave could hear the truth ringing within his words. “More than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life.”

Dave was just blinking at him, his lower lip trembling until Alan reached up to press his thumb against it. “Charlie--”

“Sorry it took me a while.” Alan let out a shaky laugh. “I’m a little slow on the uptake.”

They both chuckled here, before Dave kissed him again, his hand unsteady as it cupped Alan’s cheek. “I love you too,” Dave said with a watery smile. “But then, you already knew that, you silly bastard.”

“Oh, I see how it is.” Alan pretended to give him a disdainful sniff. “I bare my soul and I get nothing but abuse in return.”

“You knew what you were signing up for, Charlie.” Dave got up, jerking his head towards Alan’s bedroom. “C’mon, I want to show you my appreciation for the lovely day today. Bring that bowl of melted chocolate with you.”

Alan laughed, taking the bowl with him as instructed. “At least put down a towel on the bed, you uncivilised slag. I’m not too keen on having to explain mysterious stains to Flood and the landlord.”

“Birthday! Nice!” Dave yelled back from the bedroom, already shedding his clothes as Alan chuckled.  
  


***  
  


Sunday was just as nice and lazy, as Alan made them breakfast while Dave tried on his new birthday presents: the leather jacket from Alan, along with the mysterious box from Flood and Marissa, which turned out to contain two sets of stud earrings with the Led Zeppelin logos on them. Alan waited until they were done eating before he informed Dave they had one more surprise lined up for the day, later in the evening.

“There’s more?” Dave seemed genuinely surprised that someone would make such a fuss over him. “Fuck Al, you didn’t have to go to all this trouble. You already got into my pants, y’know.”

Alan narrowed his eyes at Dave. “Do you assume anything nice I do for you is just to get into your pants?” he asked, doing his best to keep a straight face.

“Of course I do.” Dave picked up their plates, bending down to drop a kiss on Alan’s cheek. “It’s why I put up with _you_ , mate.”

They spent the rest of Sunday cleaning poor Martin’s car as best as they could before they drove it back to Dave’s place. Dave had been hoping to have a late lunch with Martin and Fletch, so he’d been visibly disappointed to find the flat empty, unaware that they were actually out buying his present and cake. Alan managed to distract him with something on Netflix, the two of them lounging on the sofa while Alan tried to hide his phone messages from Dave. Everyone else was asking where the karaoke place was, and what time they were meeting. It was frustrating enough that Alan lumped everyone into a temporary group chat and hoped Mart or Fletch or someone would take the initiative to get their arses in gear.

“What’s wrong with your phone?” an amused Dave asked at one point, his head in Alan’s lap again. It was fast becoming Alan’s favourite position whenever they were on the sofa. “It’s been buzzing the whole afternoon. You owe someone money?”

Alan grinned. “Nah, it’s just Paul texting me about some of our new songs.”

Dave made a non-committal noise. “You still haven’t found your singer?” he asked carefully.

“No luck so far.” Alan stroked Dave’s hair, wondering why he looked especially thoughtful.

It was finally time to grab a quick bite and get ready to head to the karaoke place. For old times’ sake, they really did call for pizza from Alan’s old restaurant, and for some reason Dave burst out laughing while Alan’s Chinese ex-colleague Jacob arrived with their food. “What’s so funny?” Alan asked Dave, after the puzzled delivery bloke had left.

“He’s the one who turned up when I’d been hoping to get you that last time,” Dave explained, shaking his head in amusement as he ate two slices in one go.

“Oh, before you came to the Club Bastille thing?” Alan couldn’t help smiling. It _was_ pretty funny.

“Yep.” Dave bumped his hip against Alan. “C’mon love, I want to get to this last surprise you’ve got planned, whatever it is. It’s clear the rest of my mates have ditched me.”

 _Poor Dave_ , Alan thought, but he figured it wouldn’t kill him to keep the secret for just another hour or so.  
  


***  
  


After Alan got Martin’s blessing - again - they took his car to the karaoke bar in Islington. According to the group chat, everyone was already waiting inside one of the private rooms, and Martin had even managed to get a tiramisu-flavoured cake. Dave’s eyebrows jumped up when he saw where they were parking, turning to Alan. “You’re taking me for karaoke?”

“Got us a private room,” Alan said mysteriously. “You can destroy all the Bowie and Clash songs you want, I’ve brought earplugs.”

“Wanker.” Dave smacked the back of Alan’s head playfully before getting out of the car. At least he seemed excited; Alan couldn’t wait for him to find out the rest of the surprise. He quickly texted everyone to let them know they were on their way in.

The hostess showed them the way to their private room, and Dave pushed open the door. The room was in darkness, but when Alan turned on the lights, there were loud shouts of ‘Surprise!’ that made Dave jump, stumbling back against Alan who caught him just in time. Dave seemed flabbergasted as he laid eyes on all his friends: Martin, Fletch (who was with an unfamiliar blonde woman), Nicole, Paul and even Daryl, whom Alan recognised from Friday night.

“Fuckin’ hell, you lot are crafty!” Dave was in utter disbelief, grinning from ear to ear. “Was wondering why everyone was mysteriously ‘busy’ this weekend.”

Martin patted the seat beside him, which would put Dave front and centre. “Come on precious, come blow out your candles.”

Everyone made a proper fuss of Dave, ruffling his hair and patting his shoulder as he squeezed into the centre seats. Alan remained standing, whipping out his phone to record it all on video and smiling hard enough that his cheeks hurt. Seeing Dave surrounded by his friends - _their_ friends, really - was filling Alan with a sweet, nameless delight. He was glad the attention was on Dave, making sure that he got the best angle as Dave closed his eyes, made a silent wish, then blew out his candles.

“What did you wish for?” Nicole asked him.

Fletch gestured at Alan. “Probably for that one to pop out of a cake for his next birthday.” He mouthed an ‘ow’ as the blonde beside him gave him a nudge. She had to be Grainne, then. Alan liked her already.

They ordered a round of drinks as everyone shoved their presents at Dave, who took turns opening everything and expressing his genuine delight over his gifts. Dave was the kind of bloke who could equally be as enthusiastic over a box of chocolate as the leather jacket Alan had bought him, and it was the reason why people warmed up to him so easily and so quickly. Of course, by now Alan knew Dave better, knew that Dave actually took a long time to trust people and let them in. He was grateful for the privilege of access to Dave on such an intimate level.

Once the drinks were served and the presents were opened, Daryl picked the first song while Alan took a seat beside Paul. “How was the rest of his birthday?” he whispered in Alan’s ear as Daryl began singing a Johnny Cash song.

“He seemed happy, no complaints,” Alan replied. “Have you heard back from the organiser for Friday’s audition?”

Paul shook his head. “Not yet. It’s still a bit too early to tell, yeah?”

Since Dave was busy with the rest of his friends, Alan continued talking shop with Paul since they had nothing else to do. The mic was passed over to Fletch, who gleefully selected something from Elvis. His voice wasn’t as bad as Martin had made it out to be, but he _was_ a little off-key. Alan, who had near-perfect pitch, tried his best not to wince as Fletch belted his way through ‘Jailhouse Rock’.

He continued talking to Paul about their audition, because they needed some new material and they still hadn’t yet found a baritone for Alan’s latest composition. Most of Paul’s male vocal classmates were either altos or tenors, and Alan’s usual contacts were also coming up empty. They were desperate enough to consider reworking the song in a higher key so they could maybe get away with hiring an alto and plumbing the lower ranges of his voice.

“Alright, that’s enough out of you.” A laughing Martin confiscated the mic from an indignant Fletch and handed it to Dave. “Let the birthday boy have a go, yeah?”

“Yeah, they have Bowie on here,” Daryl called out, scanning through the menu. “Which one do you want, Dave?”

“Heroes!” everyone chorused together at the same time, laughing as Daryl waved them off and selected the song. The group cheered as the familiar guitar riffs blared through the speakers, and Dave smiled, running a hand through his hair as he lifted the mic to his mouth.

Then he started singing.

_I, I wish you could swim  
Like the dolphins, like dolphins can swim_

_Though nothing, nothing will keep us together_  
_We can beat them, forever and ever_  
_Oh, we can be heroes, just for one day._

To say that Alan’s jaw dropped was an understatement. Very few things could stun him into silence, but hearing Dave’s smooth, velvety voice flood the room was making him completely speechless. He was only barely aware of Paul beside him, gawking at Dave in a similar manner. Mostly everyone else was singing along, although it was hard to miss Martin’s distinctive laughter in the background. He and Fletch were definitely amused by the shell-shocked expression on Alan’s face, but Alan couldn’t care less at the moment. He just watched Dave croon his way through the song, utterly moved by the low, dulcet tones of his voice. Alan felt like every hair on his body was standing on end, his skin prickling with electricity.

Everyone clapped when the song was over, and Dave pretended to take a bow. “That was fun,” he said, before passing the mic over to Alan. “Al, you want a go?”

Then Paul suddenly whacked Alan hard on the arm without warning, making him yell. “You knew he could do that and you didn’t say a word?” Paul asked incredulously.

“I didn’t know either!” Alan protested, rubbing his arm with a wince. “Dave, you didn’t tell me you could sing.”

“That wasn’t _just_ singing, mate,” Paul told a blushing Dave. “That was, like, on a fucking pro level. You make some of the people in my vocal class look like X-Factor rejects!”

Martin was still giggling. “Sorry I didn’t say anything earlier, but it was worth it just to see the looks on your faces.”

“Yeah, you lot look so gobsmacked.” A smug Fletch took the mic from Dave, passing it along to Grainne. “C’mon love, pick a song while we wait for Al and Paul to pick up their jaws from the floor.”

Alan turned to Paul, who was still staring at Dave in disbelief. “Looks like we found our baritone,” Alan told him, unable to stop smiling.

“And to think he was right under your bloody nose the whole time.” Paul rolled his eyes. “You think you can convince him to sing for us?”

“I have my methods of persuasion,” Alan said confidently, as an oblivious Dave grinned over at them.


	10. A Broken Frame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t believe we’re at the last chapter! This had all started off as a short pornfest, but it has now grown to a 40K+jumble of feelings and porn and more feelings. 
> 
> I’m really grateful to the few of you who followed me through this journey, it has been wonderful getting to know all of you. If you want to come join the Dave/Alan fun on Tumblr, please find and follow us:
> 
> [what-could-have-been](https://what-could-have-been.tumblr.com/)  
> [pinksyndication](https://pinksyndication.tumblr.com/)  
> [im-knocking-on-deaths-door](https://im-knocking-on-deaths-door.tumblr.com/)  
> [me](https://senorarelojes.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Just comment if you want me to add your Tumblr handle to the list as well! If you’ve also never commented before and just want to say hi/offer constructive criticism and feedback/request for a specific prompt, please do so - I’m open to almost anything!
> 
> A massive thank you to **what_could_have_been** for this beautiful artwork of [a post-coital Dave and Alan in Chapter 2, just lying contentedly in each other’s arms](https://what-could-have-been.tumblr.com/post/624555637130559488/since-part-2-of-the-pizza-verse-series-by-the-ever). I hope you and Mim both know how much your artwork means to me!

  
As Alan had predicted, it was very easy for him to persuade Dave to contribute his vocals to their next song, although he suspected Dave had only put up a token protest so he could get Alan to fuck him through the mattress. Since they were both getting what they wanted, Alan considered it a win-win situation.

After booking a slot next week at a recording studio on campus, they hunkered down in Alan’s living room to get Dave familiarised with the song. ‘In Your Memory’ was something more fast-paced and pop-ish than the rest of Recoil’s songs, and they were still in the middle of tweaking it.

Having Dave play an active part in the whole process and give his input actually made the sessions in Alan's flat a lot more fun and rowdy. It was maybe a blessing that Flood wasn’t around, as he was spending the whole week at Marissa’s. Alan genuinely missed him, though. It’d been a while since it was just the two of them; Alan made up his mind to grab Flood for a pint the next chance he got.

Dave actually picked up the song rather quickly, so they started working on something else Alan had up his sleeve. ‘If You Want’ was something Alan had written quickly in an afternoon, forgotten in the ‘Maybe’ folder of his laptop. It was in the higher ranges of Dave’s voice, but he hit the notes with no problem. Alan couldn’t help feeling a strange swell of pride as he watched Dave sing, even though Dave’s talent and abilities had nothing to do with him. Was this how Dave felt, watching Alan from the wings or the audience whenever they performed?

After they were done rehearsing on Friday and Paul had left for the night, Alan was brushing his teeth when he spotted Dave in the mirror behind him, leaning against the doorway of the bathroom. He was wearing an especially thoughtful but uncertain expression. “What’s wrong?” Alan asked, rinsing out his mouth in the sink.

“Remember when you went through Mart’s songs a while back?” Dave asked, folding his arms across his chest. Alan allowed himself to ogle a little. God, he loved Dave’s wiry arms.

“Course I do. What about them?” Splashing his face with water, Alan wiped it clean with a towel before turning to face Dave, stepping forward and wrapping an arm around his waist. He couldn’t resist leaning down to drop a kiss to his shoulder.

“I thought--” Dave’s breath hitched as Alan began kissing a path up his neck. “Fuck, Al. I can’t think with you doing that.”

“Sorry.” Alan didn’t stop though, backing Dave into the room and still kissing his neck until their knees hit the bed. Pushing a helpless Dave down onto the mattress, Alan flashed him a devious smile. “Ignore me, keep talking.”

“I wanted to ask-- well, it’s not just me, but the other lads too--” Dave’s mouth dropped open as Alan straddled him in bed, rucking up his tank-top before bending down to suck on Dave’s nipples. “Oh, fuck, Charlie--”

“Keep talking,” Alan instructed, his voice muffled against Dave’s skin.

“We want to play Mart’s songs, but we need another keyboardist,” Dave said in a rush, his fingers tightening in Alan’s hair to guide his mouth over to his other neglected nipple. “Please, Charlie--”

“What are you begging me for?” Alan said with a chuckle. “To be your keyboardist, or to do this?” Holding Dave’s gaze, he licked a stripe across the flat nub of Dave’s nipple before swirling his tongue around the tight bud, making him shout in pleasure.

“Both, you bastard, both!’ Dave yelled, as Alan laughed, diving in to kiss Dave on the mouth. In retaliation Dave nipped viciously at Alan’s lips and tongue, his eyes gleaming with pride as he surveyed Alan’s swollen mouth.

They made quick work of their sleep clothes, rummaging for the lube that was now a permanent fixture in Alan’s bedside table. However, Dave grabbed the tube from Alan, smirking at him before coating his own fingers. Then he reached down between his own legs, mouth slack in pleasure as he slid his fingers into himself. “Oh God, Charlie…” he whimpered, lost in a haze of lust.

Alan was so hard that he had to think of something boring and unsexy before he came embarrassingly early like a teenager. He shut his eyes, taking deep breaths as he listened to Dave’s stuttered moans of him preparing himself for Alan. They’d come a long way from the first time Alan had taught Dave the joys of gay sex. It was one thing to get each other off with handjobs, but quite another to fuck someone senseless, their legs wrapped around you and their nails digging into your back.

Of course, the whole experience was even more elevated when it was someone you loved.

Once Alan got himself under control, he opened his eyes again, watching as Dave slid in a third finger, moaning at the stretch. “Love you,” Alan whispered against Dave’s open mouth. “I’d do anything for you, you know that.”

“Then fuck me,” Dave begged him. “Before I go crazy.”

Alan fumbled with the lube before coating his cock with it, and once Dave removed his fingers, he buried himself in Dave with one full thrust, relishing Dave’s deep moan. Alan started fucking Dave ruthlessly, stroking Dave with his lube-slicked hand while Dave grabbed the headboard behind him, gasping Alan’s name with every thrust that hit home. The bed was creaking obscenely, drowned out only by Dave’s cries of pleasure and Alan murmuring all sorts of nonsense to him, things he’d never said to another human being.

Alan’s thrusts were ramping up when he heard a loud, wooden crack. “What was that?” he asked breathlessly, although Dave was mindless with pleasure and way past caring.

“I don’t bloody care, keep going!” Dave demanded, giving him a nudge on the arse with the back of his heel. “Move!”

Covering Dave’s mouth with his own to kiss him brutally, Alan felt his climax rapidly approaching, especially with the way Dave was giving back as good as he got, his kisses fast and furious. He came so hard that his vision faded to a white haze, burying his nose in Dave’s neck as Dave moaned Alan’s name, spurting between both of them.

That was when the bed collapsed under them, making them both shout in surprise. A cloud of dust rose up in the air, but luckily the mattress shielded them from the broken debris.

“What the fuck?” A sweating Dave leaned over with Alan to inspect the bed, before turning to Alan. “You okay?”

“Yeah, you?” Alan couldn’t help inspecting Dave for any injuries, relieved when he found none. “That was...unexpected.”

They both suddenly burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. Alan couldn't resist pressing a kiss to Dave's shoulder, overcome with affection. He couldn't remember ever laughing this much during sex. Then again, it shouldn't be a surprise; Dave presented many firsts for him.

“C'mon, let's clean up.” Dave ran a hand through his bedraggled hair before he got to his feet, pulling Alan up with him. They cleared the debris as best as they could, figuring that the mattress was at least thick enough for them to use it on the floor.

“How long have you had the bed frame?” Dave asked, hoovering up any remaining dust and splinters.

“No idea, Flood and I inherited it from the previous owner,” Alan said. “I replaced the mattress, since that was all I could afford at the time.”

Dave was laughing as he shook his head. “I can’t believe we broke the fuckin’ bed,” he said in admiration.

Alan took Dave’s hand, tugging him into the shower. “This can only happen with you,” he teased Dave, pacifying him with a kiss. “C’mon, let’s wash the dust off. We’ll look for a new bed next week.”  
  


***  
  


It didn’t occur to Alan until days later that he’d automatically included Dave when he talked about replacing the broken bed. Dave hadn’t questioned it either; he’d faithfully followed Alan to the IKEA in Tottenham, where they’d picked out a new frame together. He’d helped Alan assemble it too, bringing over his toolbox - a fond reminder of the time Alan had sprained his wrist and Dave had come over to help him fix his sink and other appliances.

Watching Dave as he cheerfully helped Alan put together the bedframe, Alan couldn’t stop thinking now about their living arrangements. It was admittedly a pain in the arse for them to constantly shift between their different flats, their clothes and belongings migrating from place to place. Alan wanted to ask Dave if he’d consider moving in, but then Alan didn’t know whether Dave would miss his independence as well as his friends. Dave was obviously very fond of Martin and Fletch. Alan also didn’t know if Flood would mind. This was a matter he needed to consider carefully, and he needed to consult Flood too. Flood would be back after the weekend, so he made up his mind to catch him then.

Coming home on Monday after a long day of classes, Alan was relieved when he stepped into the flat and saw a relaxed Flood sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea, scrolling through his phone. However, something was off. Flood was very rarely idle; he always did his best to fill his every moment with purpose or something to do. It was one of the things Alan liked best about him.

Then Flood looked up and smiled at him. “Cuppa?”

Unsure what was coming next, Alan nodded. Tea was always an Englishman’s best defence against turmoil and uncertainty. He took a seat at the kitchen table, watching as Flood poured them some tea from a still steaming pot.

“Been ages since I last saw you,” Flood lamented with a little smile as he handed Alan his cup. “We’ve both been so busy.”

“I was just about to ask you down to the pub this weekend, actually,” Alan admitted. “Can’t remember the last time it was just the two of us.”

They sat there sipping their tea in an easy silence, Alan thinking about the first day they had met in primary school. They had been the only two students who’d taken music classes seriously while everyone else had mucked about with their plastic instruments. Over the years, Flood had grown to become his closest, most trustworthy friend. Alan still remembered the day they'd first moved into this flat in Clapham, when they’d had to air the place out because they were rather certain the previous occupant had been growing marijuana.

Their early single life as ‘bachelors’ in their first and second year had been filled with lots of fun and parties, followed by the not-so-serious girlfriends who seldom lasted beyond the semester. Then Flood had met Marissa, and now Alan had Dave. At this point, Alan could not ignore the inevitability of their diverging paths any longer. While he and Flood would always be good friends, they would probably never have that thicker-than-blood closeness of the years before.

Flood was staring down at his lap, lost in his own thoughts. Suddenly, Alan had a good guess at what Flood wanted to tell him. He swallowed past the sudden tightness in his throat, the tea turning bitter on his tongue. He would dearly miss his friend.

“So-- trip to the pub, yeah? We can do it just before you move out,” Alan suggested calmly, setting his cup on the table.

Flood gave him a lopsided smile. He didn’t even look surprised. “I always said you were smarter than you looked,” he said with a chuckle, before growing serious. "But, are you okay with it? I know we have about a month left on the lease--”

Alan waved him off. “We’ll sort it out later. So are you moving into hers? Or getting a new place altogether?”

“We found a new place near Whitechapel. Rent’s not half bad,” Flood said. “What about you? Are you thinking about asking Dave to move in here?”

“I’ll be honest, I was actually going to ask you if you minded him being around,” Alan admitted. “But I guess the question is moot now.”

Flood frowned. “Oh, sorry mate. Didn’t mean to throw a wrench in your plans.”

“No, not at all.” Alan smiled reassuringly at him. “I still mean to ask him. Just...maybe not this flat, then. Doesn’t make sense to rent a two-bedroom if Dave and I will be sharing just the one, right?”

Flood nodded glumly. “You’d be paying for an extra bedroom for nothing.”

“You don’t think it’s too soon for Dave and I to be living together?” Alan asked. They’d been seeing each other for about four months, give or take, but they spent so much time together that Alan already felt like it’d been much longer than that.

Flood stared at him thoughtfully. “Normally? I would say yes. But it’s really the first time I’ve seen you so serious about someone.”

Alan felt his face heat up in a flush. “Not sure how it happened. Or when, really.”

Flood only smirked, sipping his tea. “What?” Alan prodded, curious.

“I knew it the moment you sprained your hand and he was over here all the time, being your nursemaid,” Flood said with a laugh. “Sorry, but ‘friends’ don’t do that. Don’t get me wrong mate, I’d lay down in traffic for you. But even I didn’t do what he did.”

Alan looked down at his hands, fighting back a grin. “He’s just kind that way.”

Flood shook his head with certainty. “Nope. It wasn’t that, just-- it was the way you two looked at each other, you know?” Sighing, Flood set down his cup. “And you should’ve seen how worked up he was when you two had that massive row. I mean, he didn’t share any details with me. All he told me was that he fucked up with you, and he asked me to help him with the rooftop picnic thing. He went to so much trouble, just for you.”

Alan eyed Flood. “Is this your roundabout way of telling me you approve of Dave?”

Getting up, Flood gave Alan a hearty pat on the back. “No, it’s my roundabout way of telling you you’re an idiot and not to let him get away.”  
  


***  
  


Alan spent the rest of the week ruminating over Flood’s words. Many times he’d been on the verge of asking Dave whether he wanted to move in together and get their own flat, but he knew he’d be asking a lot of Dave to live apart from Martin and Fletch. Alan himself liked spending time with them too, and would miss their easy friendship. So he put the question on the back-burner, focusing on the upcoming Recoil recording first.

Paul, Alan and Dave went into the studio as planned, getting ‘In Your Memory’ down in three takes and ‘If You Want’ in two. Since Paul was a student in the faculty of music, he received a hefty internal discount, which Dave asked if they could utilise for the next time in case Martin ever conceded to have his songs recorded. Then they handed the raw tracks over to Flood for him to master.

However, Alan didn’t want to use Dave’s recorded vocals for the gig the same way they did with all their other contributing vocalists. “What do you think about performing them live on stage, with us?” Alan asked over lunch in the uni cafeteria. On Tuesdays they only had about an hour together before Dave had to run off for a lecture, but they still tried to meet for lunch nonetheless.

“Really?” Dave seemed surprised, but intrigued. “I’d never really sung in front of an audience before.”

“You did fine for karaoke night on your birthday,” Alan pointed out with a grin.

“Singing in front of our drunk mates is a different thing entirely, you twat.” Dave glanced at his phone for the time. “Shit, gotta run. I’ll think about it, all right?”

In the end Dave agreed to do it without much convincing, just like how Alan similarly needed very little persuasion to play Martin’s songs. Martin was an exceptional songwriter, better than Alan himself by a country mile. Alan couldn’t help wondering why Martin hadn’t ever attempted to form a band or get his songs recorded before. When he’d asked Dave, he explained they had tried to get something going back in Basildon with Vince, but they’d separated for uni and Vince had gone on to pursue his own interests.

They set up Alan’s instruments in his flat, since he had the space and Flood was not around again. Dave came over first with Martin and his guitar, and Fletch arrived shortly after with a whole lot of food and alcohol. “I meant to ask, don’t your neighbours ever mind the racket?” Martin said, gesturing at Alan’s keyboard and the various speakers.

“This building is old, so the walls are thicker,” Alan said. “Plus, the neighbour I share a wall with is a sweet old lady who is hard of hearing. It’ll be difficult to find somewhere similar.”

“You’re moving out?” Martin asked, surprised.

“His flatmate Flood found a new place with his girlfriend,” Dave explained, at which Martin nodded with an ‘ah’.

Alan took Fletch’s various bottles of liquor into the kitchen to place them in the fridge. When he came back out, he found the three of them engaged in a hushed argument, although they quickly fell silent when they spotted him. “What’s wrong?” Alan asked.

“Nothing,” Fletch said, clearing his throat. “C’mon Mart, choose a song.”

A curious Alan shot a questioning look at Dave, who held up a reassuring hand: _I’ll explain later_.

Just to get warmed up, they ran through ‘Somebody’, followed by another number better suited to Martin’s voice titled ‘A Question of Lust’. Wanting to hear Dave sing again, Alan suggested they try out a faster-paced song called ‘People Are People’. For this one, Martin played the backing chords on Paul’s keyboard, and Alan used an automated program to produce an accompanying drum track. Fletch watched them intently, clapping along at certain parts of the song. They tried a few more that Martin was more confident of, laughing when notes fell flat or Dave forgot the lyrics to a particular song, subbing in ‘Wonderwall’ instead.

It was actually a lot of fun, and Dave’s vocals were really suited to Martin’s songs. Alan was surprised to find that he had immensely enjoyed himself. Being part of a group dynamic was something he’d been missing without even knowing it. For Recoil, it had always been him and Paul, and most of the time Paul let Alan take the lead on the songwriting, mixing and production. At times, Alan even felt a bit tired of his own songs. It was quite refreshing to take someone else’s ‘raw’ work - in this case, Martin’s - and polish it into something else, something full and solid. Dave’s talent played a big part too; he had the uncanny skill of breathing life into Martin’s words, singing his lyrics as though they were his own personal confessions.

After ending the session with lots of alcohol and drunken singing, Martin and Fletch passed out on the sofa and air mattress in the living room, while Alan curled up with Dave on their new bed. “So mind telling me what you lot were discussing when I was in the kitchen just now?” Alan asked as Dave yawned.

His face scrunched up like a kitten that had tasted something sour. “Fuck, was hoping you’d forgotten about that,” Dave said sleepily.

“I know I’m two years older but I’m hardly senile.” Alan smiled at Dave, running his fingers through Dave’s hair. “Come on, out with it.”

Dave sighed, casting his eyes downwards and refusing to meet Alan’s gaze. Alan knew Dave only did this when he was really nervous. “Our neighbours next door are moving out,” he said quietly.

Alan was confused. “Okay, so-- what does it have to do with me?”

“Their flat’s a one-bedroom.” Dave was still not looking at Alan.

 _Oh._ Alan thoroughly blamed the alcohol for slowing down his thought process. He couldn’t hold back his brilliant smile. “You want us to share a flat?”

Taking a deep breath, Dave sat up in bed and bravely launched into a speech. “Okay, look, I know it’s too soon to ask, which is why I didn’t want to say anything. But Mart and Andy keep insisting that I ask you, and I’ve been thinking about it a lot too, so-- Okay, here goes: I do like your flat, but it’s tiring for both of us to shuttle back and forth. Plus, we’d be right next door to Mart and Fletch. I mean, I love those two idiots but our flat is really too small for three people. Also--” Dave stopped talking when he caught sight of Alan’s expression. “Are you laughing at me?”

Alan really was chuckling now. “Yes, I am.”

Dave narrowed his eyes at Alan. “If you ever want to have sex again, you’d better have a good reason, you git.”

Alan tugged Dave back down into bed again, taking his hand and kissing it. “Because I’ve recently been agonising over how to ask you the same question.”

“Oh.” Dave burst out laughing, his face reddening. “Okay, that’s a good reason.”

They traded a few slow kisses, Alan tangling his legs with Dave’s. “We’ll go take a look this weekend,” Alan promised him. “Then we can talk rent and, well, everything else.”

Dave nodded at him, an amused glint in his eyes. “Thanks for making Mart and Fletch happy.”

Alan huffed out a laugh. “Idiot.”  
  


***  
  


They ended up moving into the flat in late May, a few days before Alan’s birthday. Despite Alan’s requests for something low key, Dave insisted on planning a combination birthday-housewarming party that weekend. It was also the same week of Dave’s first performance with Recoil, so everything was rapidly turning into a big pile of chaos and mayhem. Thankfully, Martin and Fletch pitched in to help with the moving and planning, which took a load off Alan’s mind so he and Dave could focus on rehearsals instead.

The gig at Shoreditch went amazingly well; it was quite possibly the largest crowd Alan and Paul had ever played to. Dave’s presence on stage for the two songs was the highlight of the evening; he knew how to capture the audience’s attention and pander to their cheers, screams and applause, spinning and sliding around the stage like a seasoned pro. Alan had to fight back a laugh sometimes whenever he caught Paul’s stupefied expression on stage as they watched Dave work his magic. ‘In Your Memory’ got the most applause, and ‘If You Want’ turned the audience into a pogo-ing mass of bodies all jumping along to the infectious beat.

At the end of their set, Alan and Paul urgently gestured for Dave to come out and join in the bows. The audience cheered wildly when Dave reappeared, beaming and taking in the applause together with Recoil. When Dave grabbed Alan and kissed him on stage, the crowd lost its mind, phone camera flashes going off like lightning as people screamed while Alan smiled into the kiss and Paul pretended to roll his eyes.

Afterwards, Alan was waiting at the bar for Dave and Paul when he felt someone touching his arm. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Hep said, smiling up at him.

“Hey, Hep.” Alan was a little stunned to see her. She hadn’t been replying to any of his texts. He bent down to hug her, relieved to see her in the flesh at last. She seemed like she was doing well. “How’ve you been?”

“We’ve got a gig tonight at a venue nearby,” she explained. “I heard Recoil was performing, so-- yeah, I stopped by. You lads were really good.”

The venue was a little too loud to talk, especially for what he wanted to say. “Can we go outside?” Alan asked.

Hep shrugged. “Sure.”

Quickly dropping Dave a text to let him know where he was, Alan followed Hep to the exit and out into the winding, cluttered streets of Shoreditch. Hipsters were standing outside the venue in little groups, smoking. They smiled and nodded at Alan in recognition, and he nodded back politely.

“You look-- good.” Hep was still smiling brightly at him. “I’m glad you’re happy.”

Alan offered her a cigarette which she accepted, then lit one for himself. “I didn’t get to thank you,” he said quietly.

She frowned at him. “Thank me for what?”

“Me being happy.” Alan wondered how he could word everything without sounding like a complete bastard. “I mean, Recoil only started getting better gigs after we met you girls.”

Hep gave him a dismissive wave. “You lads are good. We had nothing to do with that.”

“You helped us get the gig at Black Celebration,” Alan insisted. “And that, well, that opened the door for us. You were a big part of that.”

Hep looked down at the ground, her cheeks turning pink. “It’s nothing, really.”

“And it’s not really just the band.” Alan took a deep drag of his cigarette, rubbing his forehead. “Dave and I were actually-- fuck, I’m sorry if I sound like an arsehole here.”

Hep smiled. “No it’s alright. Go on about how wonderful I am.”

Alan laughed, a little relieved that she was choosing to be so gracious about this. “I think we were kind of...dancing around each other, in a way? But after we met you, things got clearer for us, I think.”

Nodding, Hep tapped on her cigarette, watching the ash fluttering to the ground. “No, I understand.” She sounded a little resigned.

“I’m not joking, you _are_ wonderful,” Alan said sincerely as she began smiling again. “You’re a very talented musician, and you’re generous and funny. I’d like very much for us to still be friends. I’m sure Dave wants that as well.”

Hep’s smile seemed genuine at least. “Yeah, I’d like that very much too.”  
  


***  
  


Hep was as good as her promise. She and the rest of her band turned up at Alan’s birthday-slash-housewarming party, which had so many people that it spilled out over into their tiny garden as well as Martin’s and Fletch’s place next door. Dave was the perfect host, going around to greet and welcome everybody while Martin made sure the alcohol was never in short supply. Everyone ooh-ed and aah-ed over their new place; it was the perfect blend of Alan’s minimalist tastes and Dave’s eclectic art preferences, which were evident in the framed Bosch and Basquiat prints around the neat and spare flat.

The IKEA bed that they’d picked out and assembled together had been the first piece of furniture they’d moved in. Of course Dave went ahead and told everyone, much to Alan’s mortification, that the old bed had broken and _how_ that happened, which had resulted in everyone in stitches, especially Martin who was laughing until tears were streaming down his face.

“Told you Dave could be quite daft sometimes,” Fletch said to Alan with a nudge. He was fondly watching Martin, who was accepting offers of Kleenex from a nearby Grainne to wipe his eyes. Alan still couldn’t wrap his head around the very odd relationship between the three of them, but he didn’t think it was his place to ask. Maybe he’d be able to learn more from his own observation, now that they were all neighbours.

“It’s alright,” Alan replied, sipping his wine. “I can be quite daft too.”

“I know,” Fletch said with such certainty that Alan couldn’t help laughing. “The two of you are made for each other, really.”

Alan knew that Fletch was just making an offhand comment, but it still struck a chord in him. This had all happened because Fletch had called for a pizza a few months ago, then gotten into a quarrel with Martin. Alan wondered what his life would be like now if Dave hadn’t answered the door. Maybe they might have met somewhere else, but Alan seriously doubted it. He might not have even started auditioning for gigs if it weren’t for Dave. Alan truly owed all three of them a debt.

“Thank you, Andy.” Putting down his wine glass, Alan reached up to give a surprised Fletch a hug. “For everything.”

“You drunk already?” Fletch sounded vexed but pleased. “Anyway happy birthday, you silly bastard. Thanks for making our Dave so happy.”

Pulling away, Alan patted Fletch on the shoulder before looking around for the man in question. Dave caught his eye from across the room, his face lighting up the moment he spotted Alan. _Come here_ , he gestured, tilting his head towards the empty bathroom and wiggling his eyebrows lasciviously, making Alan laugh.

Alan went to him anyway, the biggest smile on his face.

THE END


End file.
